


Lost Boy Found

by mneis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ABDL, Age Play, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Choking (one instance), Daddy Derek, Dark, Dark Derek, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Diapers, Drugging, Forced Orgasm, Forced infantilism, Infantilism, Kidnapping, M/M, Multiple Endings, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Pacifiers, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Regular ol' torture, Spanking, baby stiles, bottles, forced age play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneis/pseuds/mneis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lost Stiles stumbles into Derek’s life and Derek isn’t willing to let him go.<br/>Underage for a 16-year-old Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Turn Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an introductory chapter. See the end-notes for a summary of events if you don’t want to read 3000 words of backstory.
> 
> This is my first post and I wouldn't call myself a writer. If you really feel that something can make the story more enjoyable please tell me, but remember I'm not vying for a trophy or anything. Just scratching an itch for baby!Stiles and daddy!Derek.
> 
> Nothing is canon about this except for that Stiles and Scott are friends and Derek is a werewolf with a murdered family. Stiles doesn’t know about werewolves.

  
     From his place on the ground the forest felt small. Face-down in the dirt the wet leaves under his palms pulled away the heat from the shock of catching his fall. Eyes open, he gave his hands a cursory flex before pushing himself onto his knees. Sore but unscathed he stood upright and brushed at the dirt on his jeans.  
  
      It had rained the night before, of all things, and early this morning Stiles set out into the Preserve. The family of the dead woman is holding the funeral in two days’ time. It doesn’t sit right with Stiles, to bury only half of a person. Her children will grow up and visit her but she won’t be there, not completely. The search parties packed up when the family announced their decision but Stiles, who saw his own self in their young faces, he knew that their search will never be over. It’s much easier to find closure in a forest than it is to find closure in yourself.  
  
      At midday he stopped to eat before turning back. With no cell service and no ability to read a map Stiles had relied on the sun to guide him through the Preserve. As he walked north he kept the sun to his right and as he walked back he kept the sun to his left. When dusk was half an hour away Stiles felt a panic flutter in his chest. The trees were as dense as ever and the road was nowhere to be found. So he kept walking. He walked until it was too dark to see, and then with a flashlight he walked a little longer. In a practiced motion Stiles pulled his phone from his back pocket, pressed the side button and glanced at the lock screen-- just a text from Scott-- before motioning to turn it off-- frantically he pressed for power but the shutdown had already started. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Stiles turned his phone back on. There, on the lock screen, a text from Scott, timestamped twenty minutes earlier. For at least a brief moment, Stiles had had cell service. With a dramatic turn he headed back the way he came, one eye sweeping the ground in front of him and one eye trained on the signal bars.  
  
      He didn’t see the truck until he bumped into it. He shouted, first in surprise and then in fear when his exhausted mind spun walking into a truck as getting hit by one. Running the flashlight down its length, Stiles saw that, to his surprise, the truck was relatively new. Confused more than anything, Stiles shined the light beyond the truck and instead of hitting trees the last reaches of light fell on the side of a house. Behind him, trees, and in front of him a house-- Stiles had found a clearing. The house was two stories, at least, and from where he was standing Stiles could see an exterior basement entrance set into the ground. The front of the house was adorned with a covered wooden porch and some ways to the side was an enclosed carport with a gravel driveway that wound towards a narrow gap in the tree line. A sizable shed with paneling to match the house sat next to it. Looking up at the house, Stiles considered knocking, but looking down at his phone-- 12:27 AM-- he decided against it. The driveway would lead to a road, and from there he could work out the rest.  
  
      He soldiered on down the driveway but his short rest in the clearing had given the day enough time to catch up to him. Stiles had been awake since seven that morning and the exhaustion… it hit him like a truck. He looked back towards the house. A swing seat on the porch rocked stiffly in the wind. He could crash on the porch, wake up with the sun and be gone before the homeowners even knew he was there. Sleeping on the seat wouldn’t hurt anyone or break anything, and even if they did find him, well, the Stilinski kid has wormed his way out of stickier situations. All of this he rationalized as he made his way up the front steps and lowered himself onto the seat. The plastic cushions were solid. They didn’t yield under his weight but even so it was ten times more comfortable than the ground. Stiles tugged the zipper of his jacket all the way up to his chin and pulled his bag under his head as a pillow. Turning on his side with his back to the front door, Stiles burrowed into the cushions and fell asleep.

 

\------------------------------

 

  
      When Derek opened his eyes the sky was still gray with the first rays of light. He lifted his head to read the time from the alarm clock on his nightstand: 5:42 AM. He couldn’t justify falling back asleep but he could certainly lay in bed for a few minutes more. He flopped his head back down and let slip a groan as he swathed himself in the sheets. Exhaling curtly, he closed his eyes but kept himself awake by tuning into the world outside. His wolf always loved that. Northern mockingbirds, deafening and incessant, were hard to ignore, but behind them he could make out the gentle coo of a mourning dove. A twig snapped; deer, probably. He held his breath and listened in for the heartbeat. He caught one-- but it wasn’t right. It was too slow, too close.  
  
      In one fluid motion Derek twisted himself free of the blankets and marched down the stairs, eyes red and claws out. He stopped at the front door and breathed deeply. Human, for sure, young-ish and male. Derek pulled at the deadbolt and careful of the creaky hinge, opened the door. From his clothes Derek could see that he wasn’t some passing vagabond. He pushed back the itch to protect his territory and reasoned that it was easier to tell the kid off than rip him to shreds.  
      His bare feet were silent on the wooden porch. Standing above the young man, Derek reached out and nudged at his shoulder.  
      “Hey kid, wake up.”  
       He got a low grumble in response, nonsense, even to his ears. Louder, sterner, he spoke again,  
      “Kid. Get. Up.”  
      Rough with sleep, a melodic voice told Dad to give him five more minutes. His patience thin, Derek kicked out at the swing seat and rocked it back. The heartbeat skyrocketed and for a second Derek wondered if he didn’t send this kid into cardiac arrest. It swung back, then forward, and then as it swung back again the young man tumbled from the chair. On its next forward swing it clipped him in the shoulder and bumped to a stop. The boy’s movements were frantic and his limbs, heavy with sleep, refused to cooperate as he braced himself against the swing. He fumbled as he stood and clutched his bag in his hands before turning to face Derek. He took a step back and brought himself to the stairs. He continued to slowly back away as he spoke.  
      “I am so sorry about crashing on your porch, it was my best option and I was hoping to get out of here before anyone even woke up-- it’s the ass-crack of dawn, what are you doing up anyway?-- man, I’m sorry, my brain-to-mouth filter doesn’t turn on until like ten at the earliest, that was rude of me; actually all of this was rude of me, I should have knocked and asked but it was kind of late when I found your place--“  
      “Stop.” Derek cut him off. “This is private property. Leave.”  
      “R-right, I’ll uh, I’ll be going then.” Stiles backed down the stairs but stopped at the bottom. Rocking back on his feet, he asked, “Could you point me towards Beacon Hills?”  
      Derek frowned. “That’s forty-odd miles south of here--“  
      “F-forty miles?” His whole body shook when he spoke, a wave of motion that twitched his arms and had him hopping from foot to foot. Anxiety flooded Derek’s nose. Behind the fear and the hunger and the dirt, Derek scented his adolescence. He reconsidered his first impression of the young man. The kid was a kid for sure, but just how young was he?  
      It didn’t matter. “The driveway will take you to I-85. Turn left and keep going.”  
      Before Stiles could finish mumbling out his thanks, Derek was back inside and locking the door.

 

\------------------------------

 

  
      Stiles let the crunching of the gravel drown out his thoughts. He really was hungry but there was no way in hell he was forty miles from Beacon Hills. Stiles took two steps off the path to have a piss. Back on the road he pulled his water bottle from his bag-- _shit, that’s right, empty_. Stiles was dead in his tracks, turning back towards the house and craning his neck towards the road. The man gave him the creeps, sure, but from his perspective Stiles was the creep who slept outside his front door. With a huff, he walked back towards the house.  
  
      Quietly as he could, Stiles shuffled up the steps and to the door. He wanted to turn back but he had to be reasonable. He wasn’t going to get far without water and besides being a prick the man hadn’t done anything out of line. He knocked once, twice, and paused. He was ready to knock again when the deadbolt clicked and the door opened. The man kept his face blank and gestured at Stiles when he didn’t start talking.  
  
      “Right, uh, so I hate to bother you but I got maybe a mile down your driveway when I-- silly me, I uh, I ran out of water last night and I was hoping that I could fill this up in your sink?” He plastered a cheesy grin across his face and waved the bottle in his hand.  
      Derek opened the door in full and gestured Stiles inside. “Kitchen’s straight ahead.”  
  
      The house was plain, to say the least, decorated but impersonal. Immediately to his right Stiles could see a living room. The colors matched but the furniture did not. To his left was a closed door, to a study, perhaps, and the hallway widened to accommodate a staircase. The kitchen walls were a cheerful yellow and the appliances were relatively modern, save for an ancient toaster oven tucked under the wall-mounted microwave. The counters were faux-granite and the linoleum floors were white and unassuming. The pantry was situated in the wall behind Stiles and two more doors were in the far right corner of the room. The one with windows clearly led outside and remembering the exterior basement doors, Stiles surmised that the second door led downstairs. Along the wall between the basement door and the doorway into the room beyond was a small wooden table with two matching chairs.  
  
      The whole house smelled like bacon. A frying pan sat drying in a dish rack next to the sink. Stiles’ stomach growled again but he focused on filling his water bottle. Derek stayed in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He watched the boy’s delicate fingers fiddle with the cap and followed his body’s sway as he waited for the bottle to fill. Derek felt something primal rise up in his chest. The boy’s youth called on him to protect; his virility, to claim; his vulnerability, to attack.  
Stiles felt eyes burning into him. He turned off the tap and looked back at the man.  
      “What were you doing out there, anyway?”  
      Stiles did his best to sound genuine. “You know, just backpacking."  
      “All by yourself? You look a little young. How old are you?” Derek took a step into the kitchen, so Stiles turned his body and took two steps towards the small table.  
      “Old enough to take a hike. I’ve caused you enough trouble so I’m going to take another one.”  
      “You’re a kid. I made a mistake by turning you out earlier. You’re going to stay here.”  
      “Like hell I am.” Stiles reached out for the side door but the knob wouldn’t turn. Derek walked up to him and grabbed his wrist. Stiles twisted in his grip but the man pulled him close. He shouted for him to fuck off and punched at Derek with his free hand. Derek caught the punch and held the boy fast in his arms.  
  
      “Fuck off! Fucker, let go!” Stiles shouted and kicked and writhed and screamed bloody murder for help. When he made to bite, Derek worked his arms behind his back and held him like that with one hand. The wolf smiled. Derek smiled. He had always felt that the best part of the hunt was the end, when the prey was caught and hysterical and desperate. He felt a little sadness for distressing the boy so much, but he’ll be damned if the air didn’t smell delightful. This was much better than deer or mountain lion.  
  
      Stiles started to slow down after a violent couple of minutes. Tears flowed freely down his face and his shouts quieted into sobs. He started a mantra, telling Derek to just let go, just let go and he’ll walk out the door and everything will be back to normal. Derek looked on at him fondly. _Like a little baby having a tantrum_. The thought made his smile wider.  
  
      When Stiles went limp, Derek asked, “All done?” He didn’t get an answer, so he continued. “You’re tired and you’re hungry and you’re scared. Let me get you somewhere comfortable so you can rest up and then when you’re feeling better I’ll get you something to eat. Sound good?”  
      “Fuck you.” His voice was hoarse from screaming.  
  
      Derek dragged him to the utility closet in the hall and grabbed a few coils of rope. Seeing this renewed his shouts and struggles but it did nothing against Derek’s unnatural strength. He hauled him upstairs, mindful of his shoulders, and brought him to the guest room. The old twin bed had a wrought-iron frame that would provide many anchoring points for the boy. Derek bent the boy over the bed, and, still holding his wrists with one hand, began to bind them with rope. Derek released him to secure the knots. He lifted Stiles’ legs onto the bed and flipped the boy onto his back. Stiles kicked out and landed a solid blow to Derek’s jaw. It hurt but not enough. He bound his ankles to the bedframe as far apart as he could.  
  
      “I’m going to secure your wrists now. I’ll do your left hand first. When I untie your wrists, you are not going to move your arms.”  
      Stiles looked up at him, face screwed up with rage and fear. His cheeks were red and his nose had run down his face. He looked absolutely pathetic. In a breath he whispered, “ _Why?_ ”  
  
      Derek spoke as he worked. “I’m making decisions for you. You came onto my property and asked for my help. You’re going to rest, and then you’re going to eat, and then we’ll see where things go from there.” He secured the last knot for Stiles’ wrists and Stiles laid spread-eagle on the narrow bed. Derek walked into the adjoining bathroom and rooted through a box under the sink. He came back with a small bottle, a paper cup with water, and a warm washcloth. He wiped away the tears and snot and sweat from his face, and then opened the bottle.  
  
      “I need you to swallow two of these,” he slid one hand under the boy’s head and held a single pill in the other. Stiles looked up at him with his most pained expression. “This won’t make you sleep, if that’s why you’re scared. This is just a little something to relax you.” Derek brought the first pill up to the boy’s mouth but he pressed his lips in a tight line and turned his head to the side. Derek sighed. “C’mon, kid, we both know that I can force you to swallow these. That won’t be fun for either of us. Open up, take the pill, I’ll give you a sip of water--“ Stiles made a sad, frustrated whine before he opened his mouth and leaned towards the pill. Derek slipped it into his mouth and quickly brought the paper cup to his lips. He swallowed it with a single sip but downed the cup with the second pill. Derek took a hold of Stiles’ jaw and squeezed, forcing his mouth to open. Stiles whimpered. He ran a finger along his gums and under his tongue.  
  
      Satisfied that the pills were swallowed, Derek took a seat on the side of the bed to wait for them to take effect. Stiles cried silently until sleep overcame him. Derek removed the boy’s shoes before covering him with a light blanket and heading downstairs.  
  
      He emptied the boy’s backpack onto the living room floor. He took the battery out of the cellphone and snapped the SIM card in half. Rifling through his wallet, he found a driver’s license with a full name (unpronounceable) and a birthday (sixteen). The student ID used a nickname, though.  
_Stiles_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Stiles gets lost in the woods and camps out a stranger’s front porch with plans to leave before the homeowners notice he’s there. Derek finds him in the morning and tries to avoid a conflict by sending him away but Stiles comes back. Derek can’t fight his instincts twice so he physically restrains Stiles and drugs him with a muscle relaxer.
> 
> Chapter WC: 2888


	2. The Narrative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets that meal he was promised. Derek decides that a bath is in order but Stiles isn't keen on the idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy that this story got a positive response. I'm sorry to say that you'll have to wait until the next chapter for the actual babying to start; Derek didn't plan on kidnapping anybody so he can't have a house full of diapers and bondage gear at the beginning. Hopefully a sweet-talking Derek can hold you over until then.
> 
> I had the gist of this chapter planned out when I posted the story yesterday. In the future you can expect a new chapter every 5 to 7 days or so.
> 
> See the end-notes for a summary of events.

      Derek sat, unmoving, for a good long while. He tasted the name a few times and after he had put the things back in the backpack he sat in his armchair to think. Having Stiles around could be good for him. His wolf was at ease with prey so close and so defenseless. His resistance and eventual defeat felt like victory. Derek had wanted nothing more than to lap at the tears on the boy’s face. Ever since the fire his wolf has been inconsolable. By nature when Derek is overwhelmed with grief or guilt or pain, the wolf steps forward and takes control. That wouldn’t be problematic if the wolf wasn’t overwhelmed, too, and vastly less stable than a grieving Derek. But Stiles had calmed the wolf down. Stiles could be Derek’s opportunity to finally get a grip on himself and put the past behind him.

      The rational side of Derek was appalled at where this was going. It was inhuman to torture someone for personal satisfaction and Derek worried that this might send him further into the abyss. He needed to make Stiles be meek and scared without going too far. Derek stood and walked back up to the guest bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed to look at Stiles. He was the same as before, although his head had lolled to one side. His lips were parted and a single line of spit dribbled down his chin. Derek reached out to wipe it away and pull the boy’s head upright. He brushed his thumb along his lips and relished at how velvety they were. He cradled his face in his hands and smiled when he turned to nuzzle his palm with a little huff.

      Sadness welled up in his heart. He couldn’t think of a situation that would get him what he wants while keeping the boy happy, too. Derek could provide him with all that he could ever need and want but if he’s beating him to satisfy his wolf it wouldn’t mean anything at all.

      A thought lingered in the back of Derek’s mind. It was absurd, laughable, but when he considered it… the thought meant that Stiles could find happiness, and for a while, at least, his humiliation and punishment could keep his scent thrilling and vulnerable.

      Derek leaned over and left a soft kiss on his forehead.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

      Waking up was a process. Stiles didn’t want to sleep but he couldn’t keep his eyes open for longer than a second. It felt like a great weight was resting on his chest and his limbs were too weak to move. After what felt like hours of drifting in and out of consciousness he was able to turn his head and shift a little. The bindings were gone. Stiles couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Lifting his head, he looked down at his body. A blanket blocked his view but he could feel his stiff clothes brush against his skin. His shoes were gone.  
      He didn’t have much time to himself. A few minutes later the man walked into the room with a tray in his hands.  
      “It’s good to see you up,” He smiled at Stiles.  
      Every nerve in Stiles’ body was itching to make a run for the door but that would take strength he didn’t have. “Y’lied,” he fumbled out. _Christ_ , he thought; even his tongue was heavy. “Mm’sleepy,”  
      “I didn’t lie, Stiles.” Derek kept his voice low and gentle. He set the tray down on the night stand and pulled a second pillow out of the bedroom closet. “A muscle relaxer won’t make you fall asleep but it sure will make you feel like sleeping.” He let a soft laugh escape towards the end. “I brought you something to eat, like I promised.” He rolled a desk chair up to the bedside and grabbed Stiles by the shoulders to heft him to an upright position. He adjusted the pillow so it would support the small of his back and placed the second pillow between his head and the bedframe. 

      “W’ter,” Derek supported his head with one hand and held up a cup with the other. Stiles opened his eyes when he felt hard plastic pressing at his lips. “The hell…” The spout of a sippy cup pushed past his teeth and a bit of water trickled onto his tongue. It was heavenly. Instinctively he closed his eyes and sipped for more; part of him was objecting to the cup but he was grateful that drinking this way required very little effort on his part. 

      He whined when the man pulled the cup away. “You can have more later. Your breakfast is getting cold.” Derek released his head and picked up a bowl of oatmeal from the tray. He scooped out just a little with the edge of the plastic spoon before bringing it up to Stiles. Smelling the food, he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the spoon as Derek pulled it away. The oatmeal was plain save for a bit of brown sugar to sweeten it. Stiles ate about half the bowl before he turned his head away. He opened his mouth to speak but Derek used the opportunity to spoon him another mouthful. He swallowed quickly. “How long was I out?”  
      “You slept for a little more than a day,” Derek traded out the spoon for the sippy cup but Stiles wasn’t having it.  
      “A day? You knocked me out for _a day_?” Stiles made to roll himself out of bed so Derek grabbed him by the shoulders and shifted him a little lower.  
      “Shhh, Stiles, you’re okay--“  
      “How do you know my name?” Stiles hid behind boldness to mask his fear but his pitch betrayed him. He started to writhe under Derek but Derek held him fast.  
      “Stiles, I saw your ID. You’re okay. You had a rest, and some food, just like I said--“ Stiles reached up to pry at Derek’s fingers but his movements were still hindered by the muscle relaxer.  
      “Let go, let go man, just let me go, let me go and I’ll walk away and-- and I won’t say a word, _I swear to God_ I won’t-- I won’t t-tell any-w.. anyone…” His voice trailed off into hiccups and sobs as tears streamed down his face. Derek felt that his wolf was beaming with delight and Derek felt happy, too, but his stomach rolled into knots when Stiles’ sobs turned to gasps and his heartrate grew frantic.  
      “Stiles? Shit, _Stiles_!” Derek hauled him out of bed and lowered them both to the floor. He set the boy on his knee, holding him upright with his left arm while his other arm brought his long legs over his lap. Derek cradled Stiles to his chest and bounced him gently as he whispered, “Breathe, Stiles, you’re okay, baby. You’re safe, I’ve got you. Deep breath in… deep breath in…” 

      They stayed that way for maybe fifteen minutes, with Stiles crying and gasping and fighting for control while Derek whispered lovingly and planted kisses in his hair. When his breathing and heartrate returned to normal Derek braced himself against the wall and stood up with Stiles in his arms. He carried him out of the guest room and into his own room, where the master bath had an actual tub. 

      “Stiles, baby, are you with me?” Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Derek. “You’re in bad shape, baby, so I’m going to run you a bath, okay?” Derek set him on the toilet and started up the water, mixing in some bubble-bath soap. When he reached for the hem of his shirt Stiles pushed at Derek’s hands and let out a whine. “Stiles, you need to get cleaned up. I know that you’re tired and scared but these are your clothes from the other day. Look, your jeans are all muddy.” Derek reached for the hem again and Stiles didn’t react. He guided the shirt over the boy’s head; it was stiff from sweat and needed to be tugged off. His body was lithe, for sure, but there was more muscle definition than Derek had first thought. 

      When Derek made a move for his fly, Stiles shot up and pushed Derek away. He made it one step before Derek’s arm caught him around the hips.  
      “Stiles, c’mon, sit back down.” Derek lowered him back onto the toilet and angled himself to look Stiles in the eye. “The warm water will feel nice, Stiles. You’ll feel so much better after you’re clean.” Again he tried to remove the boy’s jeans but Stiles twisted away. Derek was doing his best to be patient but maybe it was too early in the game to play like this. “I’d really prefer it if you were awake for your bath, Stiles. I’m sure you’d like to be awake, too.”  
      His face scrunched up in frustration. Bold as ever, he spat, “Is that a threat?”  
      “You’re going to take a bath, Stiles.” Derek said flatly. He could think of a dozen other ways to say ‘yes’ but that one felt like the kindest way to get his point across. Stiles took a deep breath and hissed it out as he undid the button on his jeans and started to slide them down his thighs. Derek finished the job, grabbing a hold of his boxers as well and sliding off his socks once the jeans were on the floor. His legs were in much the same condition as his torso, lean but muscled. Hair, long but light-colored dusted his leg from thigh to ankle. Stiles flushed and covered himself but not before Derek got a good look at his parts. His cock, four inches soft, rested in a denser nest that thinned out near his balls.  
      The tub was a little more full than Derek had planned. He knelt beside the tub to shut the water off and submerged his hand to check the temperature. At least that part was right. 

      “Do you have to go potty before you get in?” Stiles blushed and tried to make himself small. His head jerked down, which Derek interpreted as a nod. “Why don’t you take care of that while I go and get you some clothes for after, okay?” Stiles nodded again, more confident in this answer, so Derek stood up and left the bathroom. He left the door open but didn’t return until he heard the toilet flush. Derek set the clothes on the counter and stepped over to Stiles. He helped Stiles into the tub by keeping a firm grip on his elbow as he lowered himself into the water. He seemed to relax a bit once the bubbles covered his nakedness. 

      Derek dunked a washcloth in the tub and prepared it with a sweet-smelling soap. He started at the boy’s neck and rubbed the washcloth behind his ears. Stiles shivered at the touch but his face was blank. He was flushed but that could’ve been from the water. Unable to get a read on him, Derek checked his scent: sadness, mostly, and fear-- nothing unusual. The sadness was strong but Stiles wasn’t crying; the poor baby was probably too worn out to cry. Derek ran the washcloth down his arms and cleaned his fingers as well. His nails were dirty and could use a trim but that could wait until after. 

      He scrubbed small circles over his chest and down his tummy, wrapping around to wash his back. Reapplying the soap, Derek submerged the washcloth and began to wash his genitals. His heartrate increased and a twinge of panic streaked through his scent. He nervously picked at the skin on his lips but Derek only washed him with the same efficiency as he had used with the rest of him. Derek washed his legs next, and then his feet, cleaning his toes much the same way he had cleaned his fingers. His toenails could also use a trim. Shifting so that he was angled behind him, Derek wrapped one arm around Stiles’ middle and lifted him just a bit out of the water. Stiles clung to his arm and groaned when Derek ran the washcloth over his bum. He dipped into the cleft, only a little, but Stiles kicked his leg and gave a cry anyway. Derek hushed him and whispered “ _All done_ ”. 

      The water was light brown with dirt. Stiles’ hair was still unwashed so Derek drained and refilled the tub as Stiles sat, unmoving. The water level was considerably lower than before and Derek hadn’t added bubbles this time around. Stiles moved his arms to rest between his legs in a subtle attempt to cover himself. Derek splashed clean water over Stiles to rinse the soap off his torso. He lathered his hands with a honey-colored baby shampoo and began to massage Stiles’ scalp. Stiles leaned in to the touch and maneuvered his head to match Derek’s ministrations. Instructing Stiles to keep his head back, Derek took a plastic cup from the inner corner of the tub’s edge and filled it with water from the tap. He emptied it over Stiles’ head, mindful that the water didn’t fall into his eyes. He repeated this until all of the shampoo was gone and then drained the tub for the final time. 

      Derek helped him out of the tub. He brought over a towel to dry him off but Stiles took it from his hands and did the job himself. Stiles also dressed himself but he allowed Derek to hold him steady as he slipped on the sweatpants: they were the fashionable kind that narrowed down the leg and ended in cuffs. The shirt was dark blue, well-worn, and cotton. Both items were big on him but Stiles was happy to be wearing clothes again. 

      Derek grabbed a few things from a drawer in the bathroom before placing a hand in the small of Stiles’ back and walking him into his bedroom. He sat Stiles on the edge of the bed and slid in beside him. He used the end of a metal nail file to clean the dirt out from under his nails and then clipped them short and filed them down. He squatted in front of him to give his toenails the same treatment. He set the equipment on the nightstand and laid one hand on the boy’s knee to give it a little shake.

      “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He smiled up at the boy and looked for a smile in return. Stiles had been silent for the entirety of the bath and it seemed out of character to Derek.  
      “Sir,” he started, “Thank you for allowing me to rest here, for feeding me breakfast, and for cleaning me up. I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me. I would like my shoes so that I can go home now,” Stiles spoke every word with precision and a calculated politeness. Derek was impressed at how well he kept it together. It probably took him that entire time to think of what he wanted to say.  
      “That’s a silly thing to say, sweetheart. I told you the other day, you’re staying here. This _is_ your home. While you were asleep I went and got a few things just for you, to make you more comfortable here.”  
      Stiles looked at Derek. He had expected the man to be angry, mostly, but he spoke up because he had a small hope that the man would give him his shoes and send him out the door. He had expected for him to say he couldn’t leave, but he didn’t think he’d be so patronizing about it.  
      It was clear to Derek that Stiles hadn’t planned much more than those three sentences. Derek stole a glance at his alarm clock; it was almost 10. He moved his hand from the boys knee and took his hand in his own. He spoke while he thumbed across his knuckles.  
      “It looks like we have time for a movie before lunch. You can lay down if you’d like but I think today would be more fun with a movie.” Stiles began to pick at his lip with his free hand again so Derek rose from the ground and helped Stiles off the bed. “How about we check out one of the presents that I got for you yesterday?” 

      He tightened his grip on Stiles’ hand and led him over to his walk-in closet. From the top shelf he pulled down a big stuffed wolf with floppy limbs and black fur. It was the perfect size for an adult to hug. He passed it to Stiles, who turned it over in his hands and brushed his palm down its back. The fur was delightfully soft; it was a polyester blend and Derek had decided that it was more soothing to touch than faux fur.  
      “Thank you, sir,” he said.  
      “You’re very welcome, Stiles. And Stiles, you don’t need to be so formal with me. So what is it going to be? Nap, or movie?” Again with the tone. Stiles was put off by the man’s choice of words. It would be easier for Stiles to accept the drugging and bad-touching if the man had stuck with a narrative but the way he was right now made him unpredictable. The man was looking at Stiles, so he buried his face in the wolf’s fluffy pelt. Stiles shrugged his shoulders and spoke into the fur.  
      “Movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Derek justifies holding Stiles against his will. When Stiles wakes up, he has a panic attack so Derek decides that a bath is in order. Stiles fights him over it but gives in when Derek threatens to drug him again. After the bath, Derek dresses him in some old clothes and gives him one of the toys he purchased while Stiles slept.
> 
> Chapter WC: 2925


	3. Old Fashioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek make a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a monster chapter, near twice as long as the other two. Stiles gets his first diaper, as promised.
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter up by the 2nd.
> 
> See the end-notes for a summary of events.

     Down in the living room, Stiles settled into the couch with his toy wolf clutched to his chest. The couch was pushed against the wall that the living room shared with the entryway hall; a large flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall directly across from it. In front of him was a rectangular coffee table and beneath that was a brightly-colored rug. In the corner on the left of the couch was a reclining armchair; beside it was a small table with a reading lamp and a good-sized wicker basket whose contents were hidden by a lid. Between the basket and the doorway to the dining room was a tall bookshelf that held a healthy collection of much-loved novels and a small number of DVDs and knick-knacks. To the right of the couch was a bay window in the shape of a half-circle. The seat had a plush cushion that was molded to its shape. Venetian blinds covered the windows but an additional set of sheer drapes shrouded the entrance to the alcove. The bay window was flanked by two bookshelves identical to the first except that their shelves held nothing but books. The walls were empty.

     Derek stood beside the coffee table and fiddled with the remote until a streaming service filled the TV screen. He entered a secondary account with parental controls for content that defaulted to the animated films section. He smiled at Stiles and crouched down in front of him.  
     “Why don’t you start looking for a movie while I go get us something to drink. Here,” Derek held the remote up so Stiles could see. “You press these buttons to move around.” He demonstrated as he spoke and Stiles watched the selection switch between titles. He took the remote when Derek offered it.  
     “You need to stay hydrated. Water for now, and then maybe you can have milk or juice with lunch.”  
     Stiles swallowed. “Thanks.”  
    “You’re so polite,” Derek praised. “I’ll be right over in the kitchen. Can you stay right here on the couch until I come back?” Derek would only be two rooms away but Stiles was unrestrained. He nodded so Derek exited through the dining room.

     Stiles listened to Derek puttering around in the kitchen. He flipped through the titles to keep his hands occupied while his fractured thoughts came together. He stepped back to give himself a status check: traumatized, yeah, but physically okay. As for his situation, he wasn’t sure he could talk his way out of this one. Being the son of the sheriff, Stiles knew that kidnapping victims had the best chance of survival if they got their captors to empathize with them and see them as people. He didn’t think that would work. He wasn’t trussed up in a sex dungeon or laying at the bottom of a pit in the basement. He was sitting in a living room, curled up on the couch with a--  
     He scrambled to shove the toy off his lap. _What did he say? Just a minute ago--_ The wolf was _one_ of his presents. Stiles thoughts jumped to what other toys the man might’ve bought. His stomach dropped, his cheeks flushed, a ringing filled his ears and his vision burned around the edges. The _un-rightness_ of the situation was hitting him full force. No, he wasn’t in a dungeon or a pit, _not yet_.

     Stiles snapped out of it when he felt a hand on his knee. Derek was kneeling in front of him and talking softly but Stiles couldn’t make out any words. He had picked the wolf up from the ground and placed it on Stiles’ lap. His hands were working through the fur by their own doing. The man’s face was a mix of expectation and concern. Stiles supposed he had asked a question. Not knowing what else to do, Stiles gave a nod and was relieved when Derek looked satisfied. He stood up and ruffled Stiles’ hair before walking back to the kitchen. He returned a second later with two cups in hand. One was a tall glass and the other was a sippy cup.  
     He couldn’t quite remember what was on the one from earlier, but this one had a bright yellow lid and cartoon frogs jumping across lily pads on the side. The top was different: where the first one had a plastic spout that opened across the top this one had a rubber spout with a small hole for letting liquid through. The first had flowed freely, but for Stiles to drink from this one he’d have to suckle.

     Stiles was unamused. He started to fuss with the lid so that he could drink normally but Derek sat down beside him and tugged him to his side. His head was resting on the man’s thigh and one of the man’s arms was draped protectively over his shoulder. Derek took a deep breath; the smell of Stiles wrapped up in his own scent was intoxicating. Stiles propped himself up and began to wriggle away but he applied pressure to his shoulder to ease him back down.  
     “Stop,” he said, “I don’t wanna...” He slithered down the couch until he was half on the floor.  
     Derek laughed. “Did you change your mind about the movie?”  
     “No! I don’t wanna-- we’re not going to- to _cuddle_ , that’s not how this works.” Stiles left the wolf and the cup on the floor and as he backed away he righted himself. “I’m leaving, right now.” He made for the door.  
     “You’re not wearing shoes.”  
     “Oh-fucking-well.”  
     “Language, Stiles--“  
     “Fucking honestly...” Stiles let the words out with a breath and fumbled with the lock.  
     “Stiles,” Derek had stood up and closed the distance in two steps. Alarm bells rang out in his head but he resolved to keep going. When he opened the door Derek brought up his palm to close it. He tried again but Derek held fast. He rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t go out without shoes, Stiles.”  
     Derek eased himself against the doorframe. “You’re a smart kid. I’m not going to pretend you don’t know why you can’t leave. So let me be fair.” That got his attention; for the first time that morning, Stiles looked him in the eye. “I’ll let you go outside. I’ll give you your shoes and a ten-minute head start. After that, I’ll start looking for you. If I find you within half an hour, I’ll take you back here. If I don’t, I’ll turn back and you’ll keep walking.”  
     Stiles pursed his lips. “What happens if I say no?”  
     “Then we sit back down on the couch, watch a movie, and eat lunch.” Stiles looked at the ground. He didn’t ask his question but Derek answered it anyway. “If you leave and I bring you back things will be different here for you.”  
     Stiles took his chance.  
     “Could you drink some water before you leave? You haven’t had nearly enough.”  
     “Now whose fault is that?” Stiles retorted. Derek looked pained. He retrieved the sippy cup from the floor but Stiles outright refused to take it. “You know, this isn’t even a matter of principle so don’t give me that look. I’m not refusing the cup because it’s meant for a goddamn toddler-- “  
     “Stiles,”  
     “Actually, I am, so get it out of your head that these cups are okay, but you said it yourself, I know what all of this is so you can assume that I’ll assume that you drugged that water--“  
     “STILES!” Derek didn’t intend to shout but Stiles had only gotten louder more animated as he rambled. “Stiles, it’s fine, look.” Derek walked to the kitchen while Stiles stayed by the door. He made a show of unscrewing the lid and dumping the water out before abandoning both the cup and the lid in the sink. He grabbed a plastic cup from one of the cabinets and gave it a rinse before filling it with water from the tap. This he brought back to Stiles, who eyed it carefully but drank it quickly. He refused a second glass; he wouldn’t be able to run if water was sloshing around in his belly.

     Stiles gave the cup to Derek who returned it to the kitchen sink. On his way back towards Stiles he stopped at the utility closet; he picked the trainers off the floor and set them beside Stiles. He took his own watch off his wrist and offered it up but Stiles waved his hand away, muttering something about GPS. Derek waited patiently while Stiles slipped on his shoes. The boy gave a mocking salute as he stepped out of the house and broke into a sprint. He ran straight for the driveway. After three or four minutes of running Stiles veered off into the woods. Derek would keep going down the driveway, expecting to find him near the road, but Stiles planned to circle around the house and wait this out for a few hours.  
     Closing the door, Derek took a second to put his watch back on and set an alarm to go off in ten minutes. He busied himself by setting up for Stiles’ return.

\------------------------------

     _Derek had used the time Stiles spent sleeping to make preparations. Because it was barely 7:30 in the morning when Stiles had conked out, Derek drove about ninety miles to the next big town. There Derek had purchased sippy cups, toys, and bedroom decorations intended for young children and infants. He stopped by a department store to buy Stiles a few pairs of sweatpants and some soft, plain pajama shirts in pastel colors. Downtown, he spent a pretty penny at a BDSM boutique for some basic equipment: leather wrist and ankle cuffs, a blindfold, a penis gag, a set of training plugs, a paddle, and best of all, an adjustable restraint system that came together underneath a bed so as to keep the person lying down in a fixed position, not unlike a hospital. On his way back he passed a medical supply store; he asked the clerk for their most reliable overnight diapers and bought a package along with powder and wipes._  
     _When he had returned home Derek had checked on Stiles and jumped right into research. He was able to find instructions for a drop-side crib that he could scale to fit a twin-sized mattress. He had less luck with high-chairs but in the end he did find something that he felt he could adjust to his needs. The trip to the hardware store took him longer than he’d have liked but by 7 pm he was sitting down, eating dinner, and shopping for adult-sized baby items for Stiles, paying extra for express shipping. He researched diapers on the internet and placed an order at the medical supply store’s website for the brand that the fetishists claimed to be the best and thickest._  
     _He was tired but there was still more he wanted to get done. He worked in his shed until 1 in the morning; he had managed to measure and cut all of the pieces for the crib and had sanded all but a few of them. Even with his stamina, it had been a long day. In four hours he would be awake and waiting for Stiles._

\------------------------------

     He set up the restraint system on the bed in the guest room. He was pleased to see that he could anchor the system to the bed frame itself so that Stiles wouldn’t be able to twist himself off-center. The only downside was that the system was limited to one position; he made sure that rope and cuffs were ready on the nightstand so that he could be flexible. He made two trips from his own bathroom for a few more necessities before staying there. He filled the tub, not caring much for the temperature since the water would be cold by the time Stiles would sit in it anyway.  
     His watch beeped; the ten minutes were up. Derek felt a little bad. Stiles would never be able to escape from Derek, not carrying his own scent and hiding in his own territory. He stepped out onto the front porch and scented the air. The trail was a little shaky from the wind but Derek jogged down the driveway. He stopped when the direction of the scent changed. It curved around the trees and instantly Derek knew what Stiles had been up to. He threw back his head and gave a howl. The hunt was on. He sprinted through the woods and kept his ears open for a heartbeat. When he found the heartbeat he called out for Stiles and laughed when it spiked. Honing in, he slowed his run to a leisurely stroll. The scent grew stronger and more exhilarating and Derek had to bite his lip and clench his fists to keep himself from shifting with hunger.  
     And then the scent fell flat. The heartbeat was so very close, but Derek could only catch a hint of his Stiles through the scents of the forest.  
     “Stiles,” He stopped to listen. The rustling of the trees in the wind had never sounded so deafening. “Come on out, Stiles, it’s time to go home.”  
     _There_. A whimper. Derek walked a few more steps and peered over the side of a fallen tree. Stiles was face-up and half-buried in a pile of dead leaves. One hand had a white-knuckle grip over his mouth and tears cut through the dirt on his face.  
     “Hey, Stiles,” Derek whispered. He reached over the log to brush away some of the leaves and cup his face in his hand. As Derek thumbed at his cheek and whispered to him Stiles breathed harder and harder until sobs broke through his hand and a heartbreaking wail escaped his mouth. He rolled over onto his side and struggled to stand upright. Derek swung himself over the log and quickly caught up to him. He made a grab for his waist; Stiles turned around and kicked out so Derek had to sidestep and take a hold of his elbow. Stiles landed a solid punch on Derek’s stomach, causing the man to grunt and falter a bit. Sucking in a breath, Derek pulled Stiles closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. As he lifted, his other arm released the elbow and wrapped around the hollows of his knees. Stiles screamed until he was choking air out of his lungs and clawed at Derek’s back.  
     Derek shrugged to warn him off. “Stop that, Stiles.” When he twisted himself upwards and made for his neck, Derek stopped abruptly and landed two hard swats over his ass. Stiles paused; he continued to squirm but he stopped scratching at Derek.

     Derek walked back home with red eyes and the stupidest grin on his face. His wolf was going wild and he could barely contain himself. He had a successful hunt and the lithe young prey was wriggling over his shoulder. Stiles’ sweat was pungent and sharp and his fear was biting like freshly cracked pepper; underneath the scent of the forest floor Derek could smell his own scent from the clothes, wrapped around all of Stiles like a blanket. Derek hadn’t realized how hard he was until, confined in his jeans, his cock ached for release. The hunt had always made his blood hot but this was more than the thrill of a chase, _this was downright arousal_. Derek let his mind wander as he walked, giving Stiles the occasional light pat on his bum when he struggled too much or cried too loudly. He thought of dropping Stiles then and there and shredding his sweatpants and taking him in the dirt. He thought of tossing him onto his bed and stripping him naked and fucking him silly before bundling him up in the sheets and curling himself around him. _Fuck_. Derek groaned and rubbed at his crotch through his jeans.

     Stiles’ struggles intensified as he climbed the steps of the front porch. Stiles made grabs for the front door, the railing on the stairs, and the doorframe leading into the master bedroom before Derek finally eased him off his shoulder in the bathroom. Derek closed the door and Stiles curled up on the rug in a fetal position. He made half-hearted attempts to bat him away as Derek removed his shoes, shirt, and sweatpants. He covered his nakedness and took a few deep breaths but stopped all together when Derek removed his shirt as well. He added it to the pile of dirty clothes and lifted Stiles under his armpits to guide him into the tub.

     Stiles shrieked at the water but Derek lowered him in anyway. He wasn’t as gentle this time around but he was thorough and his touch was clinical when it was time to wash between his legs. He drained the tub when he was done washing his body; instead of refilling it, however, Derek stood and retrieved the detachable shower head from the wall. He wet, shampooed, and rinsed Stiles’ hair with the shower head and gave the rest of him a hasty rinse as well.  
     Stiles was shivering when he finished. He pulled him from the tub and stood him on the mat. Stiles kept his arms crossed over his chest; he flinched when Derek began to towel him off but made no move to stop him or do it himself. Derek secured the towel around his middle before picking Stiles up and carrying him into the guest bedroom. Foreseeing another fight, Derek tightened his grip to almost-painful and held fast when Stiles saw the bed.  
     “No-- no, c’mon, man, no, let’s be reasonable an-and let’s not--“ Stiles kept his voice steady as his crying started up again. Derek did his best to keep a straight face as he lowered Stiles onto the bed. It was work. Stiles was slippery and his gangly limbs were near impossible to maneuver against his punches and kicks. Once his back was on the mattress, Derek laid himself on top of Stiles’ chest and secured his left wrist. When he turned to secure his right hand, Stiles jerked his head upwards and bit Derek’s nose. “ _Fucking shit_ ,” Derek saw red. He reared back and slapped Stiles across the face. The force of the hit turned his head and Derek heard his bones grind together. The crying stopped.  
     With blood streaming down his face, Derek secured the right wrist and dragged an extra strap across his chest. He climbed off of the bed and walked into the bathroom to clean himself up. The wound had already healed but he wasn’t going to wait for the blood to dry in his stubble.

     Stiles was as he left him. He had been watching Derek and the look on his face was indescribable when he saw no evidence of his handiwork on Derek’s nose. Derek took a pair of cuffs from the nightstand and gave a weak smile. Stiles followed him with his eyes as Derek secured the cuffs around his ankles and then tied rope to the D-rings set into the leather. His breathing and heartrate were steadily picking up and he was nearing panic-attack levels when Derek folded his legs over his chest and tied him with his legs up and apart. Sounds escaped his mouth before words could properly form.  
     “Please, please I-I’m a kid, you call mh-me _kid_ , I’m barely sixteen, pl.. please don’t hurt me.”  
     “Shhh, Stiles, you’re okay,” Derek hushed. From the floor beside the nightstand Derek brought up the supplies he had taken from his own bathroom: a small bowl filled with water, an aerosol can, a towel, and a straight razor. Stiles looked on with a trembling lip as Derek arranged the supplies between his spread legs. Derek spritzed a bit of shaving cream onto his palm and began to lather Stiles’ pubes. He whimpered when the cool cream touched him and was almost thankful that Derek’s large hands were warming him up. Derek took his time massaging the cream into his skin. He gave his cock a playful pump and rolled his balls around in his palm. Adding more cream across the pads of his fingers, Derek ran his hand through Stiles’ crack, tickling his hole as he skimmed past it. Stiles wriggled and moaned between his cries for Derek to stop.

     He wiped his hand on the towel and picked up the straight razor.  
     “Stiles, I need you to be very still for this part. Can you stay still for me?” Stiles nodded and let his head fall to the pillow. Derek dragged the razor over his skin and the hair came off cleanly. He made quick work of the pubes around his penis but was extra cautious as he shaved his balls. He braced his arm against the back of his thigh and pushed the limp cock up with his palm as he spread his asscheeks with his thumb and forefinger. Derek brought the razor down his crack and around his hole. When all of the cream was cleared away he dropped the razor in the bowl and stopped to admire his hole. The skin around it was a little darker than the rest but the muscle was a healthy shade of pink. He brushed a finger against it, eliciting a gasp from Stiles, and marveled as it retracted just a tiny bit. “ _So responsive_ ,” he muttered.  
     Derek used the towel to give Stiles a quick wipe and after storing the shaving supplies in the guest bathroom he tossed on a clean shirt and returned with two washcloths, one wet and one dry, to remove any shaving cream residue and pat him dry.

     Stiles was a wreck. He looked even worse than he had the other day, when Derek had first restrained him on the bed. Derek had hoped that this would be something he eased his new plaything into but knocking Stiles down a few pegs had been a triumph.  
     “We’re almost done here. I’m going to go downstairs to get you some water and your wolfy and when I come back we’ll finish up and you can get some rest. Does that sound good, Stiles?” Stiles gave no indication of having heard or understood him, but Derek ran his fingers through the boy’s hair before he left. He bound down the stairs and returned with the plush wolf and another sippy cup. He set the cup on the nightstand and settled the toy in the crook of Stiles’ arm so that he could nuzzle against his toy.  
  
     “This is the last part, Stiles.” Derek held up a folded disposable diaper. Stiles didn’t recognize it until he fluffed it out. He squirmed in his bonds but his position didn’t give him a lot of room to move around.  
     “Fucking hell, you can’t make me wear that!” Stiles grunted when Derek lifted his hips to slide the diaper underneath him. “Fuck man, _just stop_ ,” His pitch grew higher as he spoke and he let out a whine. He continued to curse out Derek as he worked. Derek sprinkled baby powder over his crotch and hushed him as he rubbed it into his freshly-shaven parts.  
     “The f-uck... is wrong with you!” He massaged around his cock and over his balls and into his crack before folding the diaper over his crotch and loosely fastening the tapes. He untied his legs and secured them to the restraint system one at a time, removing the cuffs as he went along. He redid the tapes to ensure a proper fit. He tugged at the waistband to check how tight it was and ran a finger under the gathering on the legs. The legs fit properly and the diaper rode high over his hips.  
     “There we go, Stiles! Nice and snug.” Derek rubbed a circle over the crotch of his diaper before giving it a pat. He leaned over the bed and blew a raspberry onto his tummy. Stiles stopped his cursing to whine and wriggle. Derek frowned at him when he started back up. “That’s enough, Stiles. I’ve warned you before about watching your language--“  
     “Fuck you,”  
     “--But I haven’t told you the rules yet so I’ll let you use big boy words fo--“  
     “What the hell are you even talking about?!”  
     “--For the rest of today, but if you keep saying swear words then you’ll have to be punished.”  
    The finality of his words made Stiles falter. “W-what do you...”  
     “I want you to rest up. I have some work to get done but I’ll check on you in a bit. After your nap we can have a late lunch and see how you feel.” He paused. “You must be thirsty,” He retrieved the sippy cup from the nightstand and knelt beside the bed so he could support Stiles’ head and hold the cup for him. Stiles didn’t fight the cup. He really was thirsty and his throat was sore from shouting. The cool water felt good.  
     When he finished Derek took the cup away and lowered his head back onto the pillow. Derek headed for the door but stopped and turned back when Stiles spoke up. “I... I have to-- from before, I didn’t have the chance--“ His ashen face burned bright red and Derek understood.  
     “Use your diaper, Stiles. That’s what it’s for.” He was down in the foyer before Stiles could think to protest. He headed out to his shed to finish sanding the pieces of the crib. He kept his ears open as he worked so that he could know when Stiles was using his diaper. Despite what Derek had said, thinking that Derek was out of earshot, he was back to cursing. It didn’t sound like he had a lot of energy left to actually struggle, though.

     A power sander did the brunt of the work and Derek polished off the rough spots by hand. Outside, he laid down a tarp and arranged as many pieces as he could on it. He methodically covered the exposed sides with a spray-on paint-and-primer. When he was a little more than half-way through, he tuned in to Stiles grunting and moaning.  
     He finished his painting before letting the promise of seeing Stiles wet himself draw him back inside and up the stairs. Stiles was sweating and swaying his hips; his wolf had fallen onto the floor. He let a frustrated whine escape his lips when he saw Derek walking through the doorway.  
     He spat at Derek when he was near the bed. “Motherfucker! Take it off!” Derek laid one hand over his lower tummy and used the other to wipe the sweat away from his eyes, careful of Stiles’ snapping teeth.  
     “You’re doing so good, Stiles. Such a good boy,” Stiles could only moan in response because as he spoke, Derek rubbed small circles over his diapered tummy, slowly increasing the pressure. “C’mon, baby, almost there. Relax, sweetie, make pee-pees for Daddy.” Stiles opened his mouth and a chocked sob rose up to open the door for his crying to begin anew.  
     “I don’t want this! _Just... fucking stop!_ ” Derek was applying a lot of pressure to his middle. Stiles started to hiccup and felt a trickle of urine escape. He breathed “ _No_ ” between his gasps and began to buck his hips against Derek’s hand. Derek smelled the urine as soon as it left his body and pressed a little harder on his tummy. The shriek that came out of Stiles was probably the sweetest sound Derek had ever heard. He slid his hand down between his boy’s legs to feel the diaper grow warm and heavy. Having gone unsatisfied, his arousal from earlier was back and stronger. He imagined himself dropping his jeans then and there and blowing his load all over Stiles as he lay in his own piss, crying and helpless. The thought made him ache for release.  
     “That’s my good boy. You did such a good job.” He bent over to nuzzle Stiles and lay kisses on his face and in his hair. Derek lapped up his tears as discreetly as he could with each kiss. The taste satiated his wolf’s hunger and Derek felt a calmness wash over him as it receded from the front of his mind. He continued to praise Stiles until his cries died down to hoarse sobs.  
     “Let’s get you clean,” Stiles tried to bury his face in the pillow so Derek put the plush toy back on the bed, higher this time, and Stiles buried his face into the soft fur.  
     “Please no more...” The words came out muffled through the toy.  
     Derek ignored him and began to release his ankles from the cuffs. “Can you be good for Daddy and keep your legs still?”

     Stiles didn’t respond so Derek left him to get a new diaper and the wipes from the master bathroom. Derek gave the clean diaper a fluff and undid the tapes on the soiled one. He folded the boy’s legs up to his chest and rocked him back until his hips eased off the bed. He removed the sodden diaper and slid the new one underneath him. He lowered his hips back down to the bed and gave the boy a thorough once-over with the wipes. He powdered his baby and rubbed it into his skin before nudging his legs back down. He secured the tapes tightly, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable for Stiles.  
     From the closet Derek pulled out one of the t-shirts he had purchased the other day. He unstrapped Stiles from the bed and sat him upright.  
     “Arms up,” Stiles complied, grateful for the clothes, and Derek slipped it over his head and smoothed it down his chest. Derek lifted him onto his hip and bounced him once to adjust his grip, causing Stiles to panic and instinctively grab onto whatever he could to steady himself. He blushed when he realized that he was clutching a handful of Derek’s shirt and quickly brought his arms up to his chest.  
     “Do you want your toy?” Stiles shook his head no.  
     Derek talked as he brought Stiles downstairs. “Have you thought of a name for your wolfy yet?” He smiled at Stiles who kept his head down and his eyes trained at the floor. “You and wolfy are going to be best buds for a long time. I think you should give him a name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek gives Stiles a chance to run away; when Derek finds him, he takes him home, cleans him up, and puts him in a diaper. He forces Stiles to use it.
> 
> Chapter WC: 5090


	4. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets touchy. Literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I was sorry for the delay but then I'd be lying. Because I'm not.
> 
> This chapter gets "messy" so if that's going to ruin your mood the action is roped off by tildes. It's over pretty quickly and it isn't really my thing... it will pop up again, though, because I'm all about embarrassing Stiles.
> 
> See the end-notes for a summary of events.

     In the kitchen, Derek sat Stiles at the small table against the wall. The morning ordeal had pushed lunch time two hours later than Derek had planned so he settled for quick-and-easy chicken and vegetables. The chicken he had cooked a few days before so he set about preheating the oven and arranging a few pieces into a pan. He set a pot of water to boil and washed and chopped the vegetables. As he worked, he asked Stiles questions, all of which were answered with silence.  
     “...What’s your favorite color? ...Do you have a favorite animal?” Derek looked over his shoulder at Stiles, who was wringing his hands in his lap. “What’s on your mind, pumpkin?”  
     In a small voice, Stiles answered, “You hit me.”  
     Derek sighed. “You misbehaved. Biting is unacceptable. I’ll go over the rules while we eat so that you can learn right from wrong.”  
     Stiles didn’t have anything to say to that. His mouth was open and he picked at his lip again. After a few short moments, quietly as ever, he said, “Your nose, there isn’t...”  
     Derek, having tossed the veggies into a special insert to steam, put the chicken into the oven to warm up. “You barely nicked me. There are a lot of blood vessels there, Stiles, that’s why it looked bad.” He walked over and crouched next to Stiles, causing him to turn his head away. “I’m sorry if all the blood scared you.” He put one hand on Stiles’ knee and eased his hand away from his lip. “Say, you haven’t seen the whole house yet. How about a little tour while lunch is cooking?” Derek kept one hand on his knee but Stiles was back to wringing his hands. His head was down so that his chin was nearly touching his chest.  
     “Will you please... take t-the diaper off?” Derek ignored him. He scooped him up and bounced him on his hip to carry him through the house. Before they’re out of the kitchen, Stiles asked, “Can I at least have pants?”  
     Derek planted a kiss in his hair. “You don’t need them, baby.”  
     “I’m cold.”  
     “Then I’ll hold you a little closer.” Derek took him through the door near the staircase; two rooms were beyond. The first was a sitting room, plain and impersonal like the rest of the house. The office behind that was more lived-in; Derek made the visit brief so Stiles couldn’t commit everything to memory but the large desk was covered in stacks of folders and papers and several home-printed photographs were taped to the walls. Upstairs, Derek showed Stiles the two rooms he hadn’t seen, a second guest room and a half-bath at the end of the hall. Derek carried him through the living and dining rooms to get the kitchen again; the dining room table had seating enough for six but somehow Stiles knew that only one of those chairs ever saw use.

     Back in the kitchen, Derek again settled Stiles at the table before he took the chicken out of the oven and removed the vegetables from the steaming insert. He got two plates from a cabinet: porcelain for himself, and a sectioned plastic plate for Stiles. Derek cut some vegetables and one of the chicken breasts into tiny pieces. He made his own plate and set the table, adding a sippy cup with watered-down apple juice for Stiles. Derek plucked Stiles out of his seat and sat in the chair with the boy on his knee.  
     Stiles’ feet touched the ground and he used the leverage to push himself out of Derek’s lap. Derek was quick to catch him and pull him back, earning himself an elbow to the chest. He wrapped one arm around Stiles’ middle and held him tight with the boy’s back to his chest. Sitting astride one of Derek’s legs caused Stiles’ own legs to splay and kept his bare feet from touching the floor. Stiles fidgeted. The diaper provided some padding but Derek’s leg was solid and was putting a lot of pressure between his legs. He tried to sweep one leg over Derek’s so that he could be more comfortable but Derek adjusted his arm so his hand rested between his legs. He gave his crotch a pat and Stiles shuddered.  
     Derek scooped up a little broccoli and brought it up to the boy’s mouth. Stiles was famished but insulted; he turned his head away and pursed his lips into a thin line.  
  
     Undiscouraged, Derek turned to plan B and swerved the spoon through the air, accompanying it with little noises. “What’s this, Stiles? Lookie here-- airplane, Stiles!” Derek pressed the spoon against his lips and urged Stiles to open up for the plane. Stiles tried to refuse by turning his head but Derek followed him with the spoon. Fed up, Stiles swatted at his hand and sent the spoon clear across the room.  
     Derek smelled his regret. He felt his own anger flare but set his thoughts on a loop to remind himself that Stiles was adjusting. Letting out a sigh, Derek turned Stiles on his lap.  
     “Look at me,” Stiles raised his chin but kept his eyes averted. “What’s wrong now?”  
     Stiles crossed his arms. “I can feed myself.”  
     “No, Stiles. You can’t.” Derek adjusted his grip so that he could support Stiles while he grabbed a new spoon from the drawer. He let the red bleed into his eyes and felt Stiles stiffen in his arms. “Eat your damn lunch. If solid food is going to be such a problem I’ll switch you to a liquid diet.”  
     Stiles was silent for the rest of the meal. Derek let his displeasure known by being curt and forceful as he spoon-fed his boy. Occasionally he offered the sippy cup, which Stiles suckled without complaint. Derek kept the color to his eyes and took breaks between his own bites to tell Stiles the rules.  
     “There are only seven so I expect you to remember them. First, you call me Daddy. That’s the only name you’ll ever need for me. Do not say mean things or use big-boy words. Do not hit or kick or bite. You are absolutely forbidden from touching your diaper or your peepee. You will use your diaper whenever you need to-- don’t worry, Daddy will change you right away. You will tell me when you are hurting or feel sick. Daddy will take care of that, too. Lastly, running away is a big no-no. Breaking a rule will earn you a spanking or some quiet time, or maybe both, but there will be a special punishment for running away. Do you have any questions?”  
     Derek had finished his own meal and quickly gave Stiles his last few bites. His red eyes flickered over Stiles; the boy looked ready to cry and Derek suspected that the only reason his face was dry was because he had run out of tears.  
     It took Stiles a few tries to form words; they choked out between sobs. “I... I want to _-hic-_ I want to go home. I-I... I’m s-orry I caused you-u so... mm-much trouble. You’ve b-been really _-hic-_ really great t-to me--“ A hand grabbing him roughly by the jaw cut off his speech. Derek was thoroughly tired, both physically and from Stiles’ bullshit. He brought their faces closer together until their noses nearly touched.

     “Cut the shit, Stiles. You,” he snarled and jabbed a finger roughly into Stiles’ chest, “ _You_ walked onto _my_ property and _you_ asked for _my_ help. You stupid little animal... You fell asleep in front of a wolf’s den.” Derek dropped his fangs and barred his teeth. Stiles’ heartrate kicked up but he remained still in Derek’s lap. There was no fight-or-flight, only freeze.  
     Derek dragged his tongue across the boy’s face, eliciting a shiver. He stopped at his hairline, and, adjusting his grip from his jaw to the side of his head, traced the boy’s ear, flicking his tongue inside and nipping at the lobe. His breathing was hot and his words came out raspy.  
     “I am going to break you, Stiles. Every day from here on out you’re going to wake up and you’re going to piss yourself.” Derek alternated between rubbing himself through his jeans and squeezing Stiles’ cock through his diaper. “Then I’m going to change you into a dry diaper and feed you breakfast. Then you’re going to sit and play with your toys or watch cartoons until it’s time to eat lunch.” He pulled back from Stiles’ ear to get a look at him. Derek brought their faces together for a fast, rough kiss. “If you’re an extra good boy I might even let you feed yourself. Then you’ll lay down for a nap, and once you’re nice and rested you and me are going to have special Daddy-baby time.”  
     Painfully erect, Derek unzipped his jeans and pushed them down a bit so he could free his cock. He stroked himself as he talked. “You’re going to love our special time together. I’m going to strap you down and ravage your body. I’m going to stretch your little virgin hole until it’s too ruined to close. Your pretty little mouth will always have something to suck on, I’ll make sure of it. I haven’t decided how often I’m going to beat you but I’d like to see what shade of red looks prettiest on your bottom so I can keep it that way.” Derek kissed Stiles again, more gently this time, and nuzzled at his throat and jaw.  
     “Shh, shh baby you’re going to ask me why again, I know.” He suckled hickeys down his neck and peppered each one with a kiss before moving on. “I know you don’t understand but you smell so good when you’re worked up like this, when you’re shaking and scared and so ready to submit. You smell like, like--“ he inhaled sharply, “ _Ahh,_ _like prey_.”  
     Derek was so engrossed by the smell of his boy that he didn’t recognize the change right away. When he realized what he was smelling he quickened his strokes and came after two short pumps. He snarled as thick ropes shot from his cock; he caught most of his load in his hand but some spilled onto his jeans. _Stiles had been so afraid that he peed himself_.  
     Derek gathered as much of his cum as he could and rubbed it onto Stiles’ chest. He took his time to slow his breathing and let himself shift back before tucking his member back into his jeans.  
     “Aww, baby, shh, Daddy’s here...” Stiles had no reaction to being cradled by Derek, even when he started rocking him back and forth. He wasn’t in shock, per se, but his sense of reality had shattered when Derek shifted in front of him. Derek sat him upright and began to bounce him on his knee. This seemed to wake Stiles up a bit.  
     “After our special time you can play for a bit longer before dinner. And then you’ll have a bath and a story before it’s time to go to sleep. And then when you wake up we’ll do it all over again.” He kissed Stiles gently on the nose.

     “Hey, I know what will make you smile. How about some applesauce?” He dropped Stiles into the other chair and got a large jar of applesauce from the fridge. He spooned some into a little plastic bowl and fumbled through a basket he pulled out of a cabinet.  
     Derek didn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s adding a crushed pill to his food. He looked over his shoulder to see Stiles watching him. His eyes were wide and he was upright and alert.  
     “What is that?”  
     “It’s a surprise, baby.”  
     “...I don’t want applesauce.”  
     Derek brought the bowl to the table and pulled up the free chair. He brought a spoonful to the boy’s mouth and ordered him to eat. Stiles’ lip trembled and he bounced in his chair, shifting his eyes and looking ready to bolt.  
     “ _What are you?_ ” He whispered.  
     “Applesauce is super yummy. You’ll like it, I promise.” Derek offered encouragement as he fed his boy but he could smell that Stiles was uncomfortable by the way his scent shifted every time he opened his mouth to speak. At one point during his feeding a sob escaped and some applesauce trickled down his chin. Derek guided the mess back into his mouth and dabbed at his face with a napkin.  
     “Good job Stiles!” Derek scraped the sides of the bowl and spooned him the last bit. “Mmmm, what a good boy, eating all his yum-yums.”  
     “Please wash this off of me,” Stiles begged. The cum on his chest had dried and itched at the hairs on his chest.  
     “You’ve already had two baths today, buddy. Too many baths will make your skin dry out.”

     Derek carried Stiles bridal-style into the living room. He sat in his armchair and snuggled the boy into his lap for a few minutes of rocking. He tried questions again but Stiles wasn’t interested in talking.  
     “Do you want to rest instead?” Stiles assumed that Derek had given him a sleeping pill so he nodded and closed his eyes while Derek tousled his hair. After twenty minutes he was near asleep when his tummy rumbled. He instantly wrote it off as a bit of rough digestion but the cramp that followed was severe. He gasped and started upright but was eased back down by a firm hand on his chest. Derek noted the residual pain from the cramp and took it away as discreetly as he could. Stiles felt his face grow hot and he tried again to sit up. Derek extended Stiles’ legs across the arm of the chair so that more of his back would rest on his thighs. This allowed the other arm to fill the crook in his neck and freed Derek’s hand. Stiles was practically horizontal and was much easier to hold down like this.  
     “Relax, Stiles. You’re safe.”  
     “W-what was...“ Derek began to rub soothing circles over his tummy. These were much different than the rubs he had received earlier; this touch was for reassurance.  
     “You haven’t gone in a little while. It’s not healthy to hold it in.”  
     Stiles’ sense of self-preservation kicked in and he rolled himself off of Derek’s lap. Derek let him go; punishing Stiles for running away would be too fun. He watched the boy scramble to his feet but when he passed the front door entirely and started up the stairs Derek caught on fast to what he was doing. He made it to the stairs in time to see Stiles closing himself off in the guest bathroom.  
     “STILES!” If Derek had betas they’d be cowering at his feet. He bounded up the stairs and tried for the knob. Locked.  
     “I swear to god, Stiles, if I have to break down this door--“  
     Derek heard the tapes on the diaper being peeled back and decided there was no time for talking down. He brought his shoulder up against the doorframe and busted the lock on his first shove. Stiles’ scent had filled the small room and Derek slowed his breathing so that he could savor the fear. Stiles was half-naked. He had fallen back in shock and was pulling his shirt down to cover himself from Derek. The diaper was in the corner; Derek grabbed it in one hand and took a fistful of Stiles’ short hair in the other.  
     None too gently, he dragged the flailing boy behind him through the hall and into what was now Stiles’ room. He tossed the boy onto the floor and ordered him to stay still. He kept trying to turn over and stand up but every time Derek would kick out his leg or push him back over.  
     “Stop this, Stiles.”  
     “Please just let me _\--uffgh_ ” Derek aimed his next kick at his ribs and Stiles collapsed in on himself. While he was busy clutching his side and seething Derek turned him over and hastily taped the old diaper around his hips. The tapes weren’t as tight was before but Stiles would be needing a change soon anyway. Derek sat on the edge of the bed and hauled Stiles astride his lap so that his legs extended behind him on the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

     His splayed legs put extra stress on his hole and Stiles felt gas escape. The embarrassment was so strong that Stiles fell nauseous and even Derek was taken aback by the potency of his shame.  
     Derek braced one hand on his back and used the other to massage Stiles’ tummy. Stiles leaned forward and steadied himself against Derek. His legs, in an effort to close, had wrapped around the man’s waist. Stiles felt a heat build up near his hole and a moan slipped past his teeth in a hiss. Stiles lost control and filled his diaper in short, hot bursts. Derek was kissing and whispering again but Stiles couldn’t understand him. He took to kneading the back of his diaper, spreading the warm mess around his backside and up near his front. Stiles hated it. He shat until he was empty but even then he could feel his muscles continue to involuntarily contract.

     Derek lowered himself and Stiles to the floor after a few more minutes of coddling. Derek retrieved a changing mat from the closet and returned to Stiles’ side with a clean diaper and plenty of wipes. In his humiliation Stiles was still and pliant for Derek as he placed the boy’s feet on his shoulders for his change. Derek himself was in a daze; having Stiles fall apart in his arms as he lost control of his body had made him regret cumming earlier. With his stamina he’d be ready again soon but it wouldn’t have the same vigor as if he had waited.  
     Stiles physically cringed when Derek opened the diaper; the smell was horrendous. He cleared most of the muck with the first wipe and used the dirty diaper as a trash receptacle for the soiled tissues. He took his time cleaning Stiles’ penis to ensure that none of his mess was near his sensitive cock head.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Stiles was half-hard when Derek’s light fingers pulled away, but they soon came back.  
     “I can’t diaper when you’re like this, honey.” Derek spit on his hand and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ length, pumping slowly and squeezing lightly from base to tip. “Do you like being a dirty boy? Is this what turns you on?” His strokes were fast to grow aggressive. When precum began to leak from his tip he slowed and used it lubricate his hand. Derek leaned forward and allowed Stiles’ legs to slide until his knees were bent over his shoulders. He loomed over Stiles and held his weight with his free arm, bringing their faces close together.  
     His voice was low and rough with his own arousal. “Has anyone ever touched you like this?” Stiles shook his head no and started to push at Derek’s chest but a nip on his earlobe curtailed his behavior. “Don’t fight Daddy,” Derek reminded him. He pressed their lips together and forced his tongue into his boy for his first real taste. Stiles retched but Derek pushed on and relished the silkiness of his cheeks and tongue as he explored every corner of Stiles’ hot mouth. He was sweet from the applesauce but a bitter taste lingered; Derek would have to brush his boy’s teeth soon. Stiles’ heartbeat rang in his ears with the tempo growing faster as he worked over his cock. When Stiles reached his orgasm he tensed for a brief moment, bucked his hips in time with Derek’s strokes, and fell limp beneath the man.  
     Derek’s hand was sticky with cum. He righted himself and sniffed at his hand before lapping it up. He scooped the rest from Stiles’ tummy and painted it onto the boy’s chest over his own dried mess. Stiles got one more wipe-down before the powder was rubbed in and the new diaper was taped up.

     Derek moved Stiles to the bed and restrained his hands. He used Stiles’ post-orgasmic haze to get a sleeping pill down his throat without a fight and tucked the wolf toy in beside him. He pulled up the desk chair to sit and watch his boy.  
     “Daddy has a lot of work that he needs to get done. You’re going to sleep for the next few days, but don’t worry, Daddy will keep you clean and he’ll make sure you wake up and eat a few times every day.”  
     Stiles had closed his eyes and was regulating his breathing. Derek unzipped his jeans and masturbated lazily in time with Stiles’ counts. When he finally passed out Derek tucked his hard-on away and left a kiss on his forehead.

     Closing the door behind him, Derek checked his watch on his way to his own room; it was nearly 4:30 and the delivery service he had used closed their office at 6. He washed up and sped towards Beacon Hills to pick up the packages he had ordered with 2-day shipping. He drove back to his house but passed it in favor of traveling a little farther north to hit up the medical supply store. He was aware that his order of diapers wouldn’t be arriving for at least a week but he after searching he did find a single case of the brand he was waiting on. He purchased the case and a two-week supply of adult meal replacement shakes.  
     Because he was already out and about Derek took the opportunity to shop at a grocery store beyond Beacon Hills. There was less of a chance someone would recognize him outside of the small town. He bought whole milk, bananas, cereal, yogurt, fresh fruit, vegetables, and a few dozen jars of baby food.  
     Stiles was still asleep when Derek got back. His toy had fallen out of bed again and Derek looked forward to the crib keeping his toys in order. He figured that he’d be out until morning but set a baby monitor on the nightstand and left the sister piece in his own room so he’d hear him if he woke up in the night.  
     Derek put away the groceries before unpacking the boxes. Everything needed to be washed before Stiles could use it so Derek removed the tags from the clothes and started a load of laundry. He hand-washed the bottles and pacifiers. His personal favorite pacifier was deep blue with white accents and a sleeping crescent cartoon moon on the front. He brought it upstairs with him.  
     Derek removed the restraints and carried Stiles to his own bed. He laid him flat on his back and tilted his head back a little so his mouth would fall open. He eased the nipple past his lips and Stiles snuffled around the pacifier. Derek made to leave but his instincts brought him back to draw the comforter around Stiles to keep him warm.  
     Derek decided that it was too late to start painting. He wanted to do it all in one go and if he started now he wouldn’t finish until the wee hours of the morning. Painting was a job for tomorrow. For now, he took apart the guest bed and alternated between carrying the bed pieces down and bringing the crib pieces up. It went up fast; Derek had done good work but he had made two mistakes in his screw placement and had to carry the offending pieces down to his shed to drill new holes.  
     It was a drop-side crib but because of the height of the bars Derek had had to modify the dropping door. Instead of having the entire side drop to the floor, Derek had made two halves, where the top half overlapped the bottom when lowered. The bars were tall enough to rise to Stiles’ chin when he was standing inside of the crib. Derek had also made a cover for the crib; he assembled and attached it but decided he wouldn’t use it until Stiles was better adjusted.  
     Derek lifted the twin-sized mattress and lowered it into the bed of the crib. He covered the mattress first with a plastic sheet to protect it from accidents and then added a mattress pad and dinosaur sheets. He fit the pillow with a matching case and set up the restraint system around the crib. The plush wolf went inside and Derek also added a floppy yellow bunny and a classic teddy bear.  
     He settled Stiles into his new bed and secured him with the wrist restraints. He tucked him in and arranged the toys around him. Derek left a light kiss on his forehead, raised the side of the crib, and closed the door behind him as quietly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek feeds Stiles lunch and tells him the rules. When Stiles continues to act out Derek gets frustrated and masturbates as he tells Stiles all of the things he's going to do to him. Derek gives Stiles a laxative and holds him in his lap as he goes. Derek jacks off Stiles and knocks him out with a sleeping pill. Derek runs errands and sets up a crib for Stiles.
> 
> Chapter WC: 4164


	5. Game Changer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles starts to see things for how they need to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. An update. It's only been 40 days, but really, who's counting? A couple of notes. I won't let the story just fall off the face of the earth; if I ever plan to cancel it, I'll post a chapter to announce that and tie up any loose ends (because I'm bothered by stories that fade to oblivion). Also, I won't ever post a chapter just to tell you that an update is coming. That is also something that bothers me, false hope.
> 
> Realistically the next update should be in the second week of November. I'm pretty swamped these next two weeks but there's a lull after that. I already know what I want to happen next and it's the most diabolical thing that could happen to Stiles in a situation like this, in my opinion. I'm already sorry. You have three weeks or so to prepare.
> 
> See end-notes for a summary of events.

     Stiles slept for four days. The first night, Derek relaxed, something he hadn’t had the chance to do since Stiles arrived. He sat down with a book but after twenty minutes he was drawn to the internet and shopping online for Stiles. He found a long sturdy table and a thin vinyl mattress in an unassuming blue-- not an exact match for Stiles’ theme, but the material made it a good option for padding a changing table.  
    The remainder of the days were spent preparing Stiles’ room. Stiles spent the nights in his crib but Derek moved him to his own bed during the day while he worked. He sanded and painted the new table and the old nightstand to match the crib, and the room itself received a fresh coat of paint and a thorough carpet cleaning. Derek attached the mattress to the table with large strips of velcro tape. He had purchased two additional restraint sets from the boutique: one of them was a wide-banded, 5-point harness and the other was wrist and ankle restraints with extended connecting straps. The harness was for the high chair but the second set he arranged on the table for securing Stiles during his changes. The wrist restraints went under the table in the same way his bed restraints went under the frame, but Derek had special plans for the ankle cuffs. He set hooks into a ceiling joist and suspended them above the base of the table. Now he wouldn’t have to worry about holding his boy’s legs during changes. Diapers and supplies were piled into plastic bins and stored under the table. The adjoining bathroom was stocked with fresh towels and a first aid kit. For a change of pace, Derek replaced the lock and hinges on the door he had busted down.  
    Much like the crib, the brunt of the work for the high chair was in the measuring and cutting. The addition of a harness was an afterthought. Derek pulled the straps to their full extension and held the harness against the back piece of the chair; he cut two slits at the top and two in the sides for the straps to feed through, and one slit in the seat of the chair. It was sanded and assembled on the evening of the third day but left unfinished. Derek was eager to use it with Stiles and he didn’t want to wait an extra 24 hours for the finish to dry.  
    Stiles got a big play mat in the center of his new room. At the foot of his crib went a large brightly-colored chest that Derek filled with toys. The toys were appropriate for many different age groups but the most grown-up toys, the legos, the action figures, and even the nerf guns, went into Derek’s closet for safe keeping. Those would be ‘sometimes’ toys, for when Stiles was especially good. Lastly, a durable rocking chair took a place in the corner opposite the door.

     All the while, Stiles slept. Derek let the work keep him busy but always he listened for a change in his boy’s breathing or heartrate. Whenever his stirring turned into rousing, Derek rushed to his side and urged him to drink a bottle. The nipples were large and filled his mouth; Stiles would whimper but soon got into the habit of suckling after Derek got the flow started by squeezing the bottle. The bottles were laced with a sleeping aid that kept Stiles drifting in and out. For a few brief periods, Stiles was acutely aware of his surroundings, especially if he was being moved or bathed or fed, but for the most part his head was too fuzzy to process what was going on. He could only live in the moment. He felt the urge to piss and void himself but he couldn’t control how his body managed these urges. Derek stayed on top of things and never let him sit dirty for long.  
    After his first bath during his long rest, Derek rubbed Stiles down with a hair removal cream. Stubble had peeked through from his first shaving but was wiped away with the rest of his body hair. The solution wasn’t permanent, although after a few months of consistent treatment, it would be. After every bath Stiles would be massaged with an unscented baby lotion and dressed in a footed sleeper.  
    Derek took this time to hold and rock Stiles. He was surprised at how fast he had gotten used to touching the boy. Maybe it was the lack of physical contact that preceded Stiles’ arrival, or maybe Stiles was just that nice to hold. Derek found himself getting antsy throughout the day but he worked through his feelings because the work he was doing was for Stiles. Derek reflected on this as he looked down at his sleepy boy. It pleased him to know that his plan was working, that he could control an instinct for the sake of his boy.

     Derek let Stiles come to on the morning of the fourth day. In the living room, Derek sat in his chair with Stiles in his lap. He wanted to gauge how Stiles was feeling before he did anything else. Stiles came around slowly. He was disoriented and none of his emotions were particularly strong. He tested his limbs by clenching his fists and kicking his legs. Derek let him move around but kept a strong arm around his middle. After letting out a steady breath, he opened his eyes. He saw Derek, and the fear made him nauseous. It was overwhelming after not smelling it for days.  
    The steadying breathing was a façade. “Oh no. Oh no, oh no no no...” Each word was let out with a tiny gasp. Stiles began to slide himself down from Derek’s lap and towards the floor but Derek hauled him back up. He tried again, and when that got him the same result he tried to use momentum to vault himself over Derek’s arm.  
    “Stiles,” Derek said softly; his voice put a stop to Stiles’ muttering.  
    “No, no more,” He cried when Derek swung him upright. He hooked his arm under Stiles’ legs and brought the boy across his lap. “That’s right, no more.”  
    “What did you give me?” He breathed. He fought to remember what happened before he fell asleep. He ate, and Derek talked, and he-- oh god, he masturbated on him-- and he had shit himself at some point, but it didn’t feel like he was forgetting, it felt like the memories never formed in the first place. “What happened? How long?”  
    “You don’t need to know that, Stiles. Daddy took good care of you while you were asleep.”  
    “What did you give me?” He repeated. Talking gave him courage. Derek considered, and answered, and kept his voice soft.  
    “It was just some medicine to keep you sleepy,”  
    “No, no, before that--“ Derek gave him a look, his thick eyebrows cocked high. Stiles blushed. “I-I remember that, but, but I swear, I coulda sworn, I was seeing shit, your face--“  
    “That was real, Stiles.”  
    “...the face?”  
    “I’m a werewolf,”  
    “You’re a nutjob,”  
    Derek laughed. He had such a clever boy. “Daddy’s pretty silly, huh?”  
    “Stop it with this ‘daddy-baby’ shit.” Stiles gulped and dropped his voice but the defiance was still strong. “You’re a fucking pedophile creep is what you are,”

     The comment didn’t sit well with Derek. It was a challenge to his character and the wolf snapped awake to fight the battle. He had enjoyed his back-and-forth with his wryly boy but that was too far. Derek pulled him upright so that he could bury his head in Stiles’ neck and talk in his ear. His hot breath was frustratingly warm against Stiles’ neck. Derek gave his ear a sharp nibble and pressed his lips against it.  
    “Do you want to try ‘Master’ and ‘slave’ instead?” The words made Stiles feel many things at once. Panic, mostly, and regret. His stomach dropped and the color drained from his face as a ringing filled his ears. Suddenly his mouth was very dry. Derek had made it clear that he wasn’t above beating and drugging Stiles to get his way.  
“What?” Derek’s big hand took a hold of his jaw and forced his head to turn. “You don’t want to talk anymore?” He paused and gave Stiles’ jaw a squeeze. It hurt, and tears escaped from his eyes.  
    “Daddy’s been alone for a long time, Stiles, and he’s very happy to have such a cute little boy in his house. Daddy thought that Stiles could be happy, too, if he could spend his days playing with his toys and watching cartoons. Although...” Derek flashed red eyes and a toothy grin at Stiles. “Yes baby. I’m real.” Fangs dropped into the smile but quickly disappeared behind Derek’s lips as his face resumed its cold composure. Derek released his death grip on Stiles’ jaw and jostled him onto his hip as he stood. “If baby will be happier spending his days chained up in the basement, that could be arranged, too.”  
    “Stop,” The word was an accident, choked out in a hiccup. The fear that had gripped him for the past few days was coiling tighter in his chest. Involuntarily, Stiles wailed as Derek walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. “C’mon, n-no, I don’t want-that, no no no NO NO!”  
    Derek walked him up to the basement door and placed his free hand on the doorknob.  
    He looked at Stiles and gave it a twist.  
    It rattled but wouldn’t turn.  
    “Whoops. Daddy’s being silly again.” He let his hand drop to his side and walked Stiles to the refrigerator. Some dam had burst in the boy and he was sucking in great lungfuls of air to keep his panic at bay. “Daddy forgot that he keeps that door locked,”

     Derek pulled out a gallon jug of milk and wrestled one of the meal shakes out of the packaging. He stirred the shake and a few ounces of milk into a large glass measuring cup and set it in the microwave. Stiles had regained control of his emotions and was gripping Derek’s shirt as he brought himself down from panic. Derek bounced Stiles as he waited. He threw a towel over his shoulder and from a drawer he pulled a second cloth. Stiles didn’t register it as a bib until Derek took an extra second to snap the fastener behind his neck. When the microwave beeped the warm mixture was poured into a bottle.  
    Derek brought the bottle and his boy to the couch in the living room. He set the bottle on the floor while he adjusted Stiles to lay across his lap with his head cradled in his arm. Stiles was calm but his eyes were wild. Derek gave him a weak smile and began to undo the buttons on Stiles’ sleeper. Stiles’ reaction was to bring his arms up but his hands hovered above Derek’s. The look Derek gave him kept him frozen in place. He swallowed.  
    “Why’re you--“  
    “I counted two bad words and one mean thing,” Derek eased the sleeper off of Stiles’ shoulders and freed his arms. “I think fifteen spanks is fair.” He pulled at the tabs on his diaper and refastened them very loosely on the landing zone so that they wouldn’t catch on any fabric. He flipped Stiles over on his lap and pulled the diaper down over his bottom.

     Stiles didn’t like this position. He didn’t like anything about his situation but in that moment he felt truly exposed. Struggling had gotten him nowhere so he tried words again. His voice came out scratchy. “Just hold up for a second, we can-“ Derek landed a light slap across Stiles’ bum and shut him up. It wasn’t half of what Stiles was expecting. He mumbled something along these lines before the second slap fell, harder this time, but still not bad. Derek added a little more force behind each spank but he didn’t want to go too hard for his boy’s first spanking. He was mindful of his strength, mindful of the monster that he was, and for the umpteenth time this week, Derek felt good about his self-control.  
    Stiles mumbled through the spanking. When it ended, Derek pulled the diaper back up, turned him back over and refastened the tapes. Stiles looked up at him to gauge his state of mind as Derek pulled his sleeper completely off. His eyes were a bit glossy but the rest of his face was at rest. He didn’t look mad.  
    “What a good boy, taking his spanking so well. No more naughty words, okay Stiles?” Derek braced Stiles and leaned forward to grab the bottle off the floor. Having seen the bottle prepared, Stiles knew it wasn’t drugged but he still gave a struggle when Derek brought the nipple to his lips. The moment caught up to him. His limbs felt weak, his hands were trembling... he had only been awake for twenty-odd minutes but the weariness weighed him down. Not to mention his bum was sore. He had been immobile for god knows how long, and as sick as it seemed, Stiles really wanted to sleep again.  
  
    The nipple felt disgusting in his mouth. It was roughly two inches long and proportionately thick and the rubber was warm and pliable. Stiles pushed at it with his tongue and as he was adjusting it Derek squeezed some formula out to encourage Stiles to drink. Most of it spilled out of his mouth but some escaped down his windpipe, sending him into a fit of coughs. Derek quickly pulled the bottle away and propped him upright. He used the towel to wipe his chin and then put it back over his shoulder. He pressed Stiles against his chest and rubbed his back until his coughs died down.  
    When he was lying down again Stiles got the message and suckled. The size of the nipple meant that the liquid didn’t spend a lot of time in his mouth. From what he could taste, the mixture didn’t taste bad but the texture was a little gritty. It would have been too thick to drink through a bottle if it wasn’t watered down with milk. It didn’t take long for Stiles to finish. Suckling felt natural and it dawned on Stiles that Derek must’ve been feeding him like this while he was strung out. His thoughts strayed to all of the other needs that Derek had taken care of but the thoughts made him uncomfortable so he focused on his breakfast. When he was done Derek again held him up to his shoulder while he rubbed and pat his back. Stiles wasn’t going to burp but Derek thought that Stiles could use a few minutes of quiet. He unsnapped the bib and laid it on the floor next to the discarded sleeper.  
  
    Derek fiddled with the remote and The Little Mermaid began to play on the television. He turned Stiles in his lap and slouched him down a little so that his head could rest on his chest.  
    “This was one of my favorite movies growing up,”  
    Stiles let the movie play while he caught up with his thoughts. The thoughts he repressed before were still muddling around and they rushed to fill his head. The thought of the man cleaning up after him while he was drugged half to death made him feel sick. Stiles still hadn’t learned the man’s name and he refused to think of him as ‘Daddy’. The psychopath said he was a werewolf, and Stiles knew that it was crazy, but his eyes and his teeth and his face... his claws... Stiles mentally slapped himself. He needed to keep himself grounded in the truth and reality of his situation. It wasn’t safe to speculate but it was a lot more _real_ to think that there was some low-grade psychedelic in his food.  
    When the movie was close to over Stiles felt the need to pee again. The ‘help’ he had received the first time around had been very painful and very humiliating. He didn’t want Derek’s ‘help’ again. He focused very hard on the movie to stop shame from freezing him up as he let go.  
    “ _Good job, honey,_ ” Derek whispered. The credits rolled a few minutes later so Derek waited until then to carry Stiles upstairs for a change. This was the first time Stiles would see his new room. “Daddy did a lot of decorating while you slept. Look,” Stiles scanned his eyes across the room and honed in on the changing table. The restraints were scary. He sat Stiles on the table but before he lowered him bent down a little to be on his level.  
  
    “Things were rough this morning and I don’t want to punish you again right now. Be a good boy and slip your hands through the cuffs.” Derek used his shoulders to guide him back against the stiff mattress. Stiles complied. He fed his arms through the leather loops. Derek tightened the cuffs, and then, one at a time, he lifted Stiles’ legs into the hanging ankle restraints and secured them. The position wasn’t stressful and for that, Stiles was grateful. The overhead fan was on full speed and it gave Stiles goosebumps. For the first time since waking up he got a good look at his skin and noted his hairlessness. He added ‘shaving’ to the list of uncomfortable things that Derek had done to him while he slept.  
    Derek cleaned him and taped a new diaper around his hips. He grabbed another sleeper from the closet and freed Stiles as he dressed him, one limb at a time. To his surprise, Derek sat him on mat in the middle of the room. Derek passed by the chest in favor of the closet and dragged over a big blue bin. Derek sat cross-legged on the floor next to Stiles and removed the lid. Stiles watched him as he pulled a couple of over-sized legos from the bin and began to piece them together. When Stiles didn’t join in, Derek prompted him. He placed a few handfuls of blocks onto the mat and offered up a block for Stiles to hold. Stiles took it, and cautiously reached for another block. Derek watched him closely. His face was hard. When Stiles put the blocks together, Derek smiled and continued to build his own tower.  
     _I can do this_ , Stiles thought. This was easy. All he had to do was sit and put blocks together. Derek seemed satisfied that he was participating in playtime. He felt safe, for the time being. He had to suppress a laugh. The murderous wolf-man, his captor and his abuser, sitting on a rug and playing with bright, colorful blocks. The juxtaposition was a sight to see. The laugh, he suppressed, but he couldn’t help the grin on his face. Derek saw and smiled back. He was happy his baby was having fun. Derek didn’t say much while they played. He mentioned how one of the towers was a lighthouse, and that he was never a big fan of the ocean but that he did like the beach. They ‘played’ for a little more than twenty minutes. Stiles had no rhyme or reason to his building but Derek seemed content with making towers and pulling them apart. Derek broke apart his final tower and cleaned up the extra blocks but carefully placed Stiles’ creation into the bin. He moved it back into the closet and carried Stiles downstairs.  
    “Lunchtime, babe.” In his earlier panic he had failed to register to latest addition to the kitchen. The highchair was scarier than the changing table. The black leather straps cascaded down the seat and collected in the back with heavy clips. Stiles froze up and allowed Derek to safely sit him in the chair. He buckled the harness in his front and then walked around to the back. “Sit up straight and be still. This needs to fit well to be comfortable.” It was all too much for Stiles. The amount of dedication the man had for Stiles was frightening. He was setting up for the long term. Stiles felt angry, mostly. He was angry that he was being forced to wear diapers and he was angry that this man would physically and sexually assault him, and that he would justify it. He was angry that he was tied down for every little thing. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard. Stiles let the anger dissipate with the pain. Fighting didn’t work. Arguing didn’t work. Logic didn’t work. Begging didn’t work. Stiles set his jaw. If he was going to survive this with any shred of sanity, he would have to play the game.  
He licked his lips and let his mouth hang open for a second before speaking. “Can I sit in your lap, Daddy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek puts Stiles' new room together. When Stiles has an outburst, Derek spanks him and threatens him. Stiles has breakfast, watches a movie, and plays with blocks. Derek sits him down for lunch.
> 
> Chapter WC: 3510


	6. Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets a visitor and plays with Stiles after he has a good rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote it once and didn't like how I handled things so I scrapped it. When the new season started all I wanted in my life was sappy Sterek. The *only* reason I've rewritten it now and not towards the end of the month is because my internet was down on Thursday and Friday. I really should have spent that time studying but procrastination is so real.
> 
> Enough about me. As promised, this chapter contains the most diabolical thing I could think to do to Stiles.
> 
> QUESTION FOR READERS - I used a different formatting for this chapter than the others. There is more paragraph spacing and bigger tabs. Do you like this format better? Is it easier to read? Or does it not matter?
> 
> See the end-notes for a summary of events.

                Derek gave a sharp tug on the harness and the bindings closed in around Stiles. They pulled him flush against the back of the chair; the restraints over his shoulders prevented him from slouching or turning and he wriggled in the seat to escape the pressure from the strap between his legs.

                Derek didn’t miss the ‘daddy’ that Stiles tacked on in his thinly-veiled disgust. It was nice to hear Stiles say it anyhow. Stiles was playing. Derek could play, too.

                “Daddy spent a lot of time making this just for you,” He walked around to the front of the chair and slipped the tray through the slots in the armrests. He drummed his fingers on the wood and bent his knees to be level with Stiles. “Be a good boy and sit in your chair for lunch and maybe you can sit in Daddy’s lap at dinnertime.”

                Derek straightened and sauntered to the pantry. Stiles craned his neck but he couldn’t see inside from where he was sitting. He took his time looking through the shelves, picking things up and putting them back, humming all the while. He settled on a small jar and set it on the counter near the sink. He searched through the fridge next but not for long; Derek already knew what he wanted from there. He pulled out a bundle of aluminum foil and inside was a single sweet potato, already cooked. He cut it in half and spooned the insides into a large bowl, scraping the skin to get it all. The sweet potato was soft as butter and mashed easily between Derek’s fork and the sides of the mixing bowl. He left it on the counter for the time being and returned to Stiles with the small jar, a bib, and a soft-tipped spoon.

 

                Baby food. Stiles inwardly groaned but his charade would only work if he kept up his cooperation. Derek snapped the bib around his neck and pulled a chair up in front of him; he uncapped the jar with a pop and gave the green mixture a stir before he filled the spoon and brought it to his mouth. Stiles, prepared for the worst, shut his eyes and let his lips close around the spoon.

                “Good boy, Stiles!” Derek praised. Stiles was relieved. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good, but it was bearable. He accepted the next spoonful and smacked his lips as he tried to put his finger on the taste. Halfway through the jar, he got it-- mushy peas. He hadn’t realized he had said that out loud until Derek responded with a little laugh. “That’s right baby, yummy mushy peas.”

                When the jar was empty, Derek lovingly dabbed the bib across Stiles’ mouth before he rinsed the jar and disposed of it in his recycling bin. He moved the mashed sweet potatoes into a smaller bowl and microwaved them for a couple of seconds to warm them up. Stiles fidgeted in the chair. Sitting still was hard enough as it was but the forced posture was starting to make him antsy. Derek came back soon enough and began to spoon him little bites of sweet potato. Stiles was thankful for the distraction and let himself fall into a rhythm. When the next bite didn’t come he brought his focus back on Derek. The spoon was full but hovering above the bowl; Derek was looking towards the front door. Stiles shifted in his chair and the motion brought Derek’s attention back towards him.

                “Sorry baby-- here, only a little left.”

                Derek kept Stiles in the chair and gave him a handful of cheerios to keep him busy while he tidied up. Stiles nibbled at the cheerios. He wasn’t hungry any more but he didn’t feel like he had eaten enough for lunch. He figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.

                “Daddy?”

                Derek shut the water off and dried his hands. “Yes baby?”

                “I’m still hungry.”

                “You’ve only had ba-baas for a little while. You need to eat gentle food so your tummy doesn’t get upset.”

                Stiles frowned. “Can I have more gentle food?”

                Derek hummed. “You can have another ba-baa,”

                It was better than nothing. Stiles nodded so Derek mixed up another bottle, filling it halfway.

                “Daddy’s going to get his own lunch started and then you can go down for your nap.”

 

                Derek brought a thawed steak out from the refrigerator and pulled an electric grill from one of the lower cabinets. He plugged it in and turned the dial but his head snapped to attention. He swore under his breath and turned the grill back off. Stiles couldn’t hear as well as Derek but there was no mistaking the sound of a car door slamming.

                He was on Stiles in an instant. His bones audibly creaked as they shifted with the rest of him, eyes red, hair wild. Clawed hands wrapped around his face and the monster forced his head back to look him in the eye as he towered above him. He spoke quietly and deliberately through his crowded teeth.

                “There are people outside. I will answer the door and you will be quiet. Believe me, Stiles, I’ll kill them all if you so much as sneeze.” There was a knock. Derek shifted back to normal and Stiles felt the rough, clawed hands shrink and smooth against his skin. Stiles believed him.

 

                Derek made his way to the door and was greeted by two officers. The woman introduced herself as Deputy Amber Delgado of the Westridge County Sheriff’s Department.

                “And this gentleman is Sheriff John Stilinski of Beacon county,” Derek reacted before he could stop himself. His eyebrows shot up and his head turned to face the Sheriff directly. _Stilinski_. There was a skip in Stiles’ heartrate before it began to steadily rise.

                His reaction didn’t go unnoticed.

                “Everything alright, son?” The Sheriff asked. Derek pulled himself together. He forced a dawning smile across his face.

                “Sorry sir, it’s just--“ He leaned against the door frame, one hand on his hip. “I’m Derek Hale, my family-- you were still a deputy then--“

                The Sheriff’s face changed and sadness creeped into his scent. “It’s okay, son, I remember. Are you still working with Brandon at the auto shop?”

                “No sir, I quit about a month ago. I wanted to focus on my woodwork.” He gestured towards the shed.

                “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself, Derek.”

                “Doing my best, sir.” He paused to look back at Deputy Delgado. “What brings you all the way out here?”

                Delgado spoke up. “There’s a missing teen. He’s from Beacon county but we have reason to believe he’s lost in our precinct. The last location we have on him is from a cell tower about ten miles east of here, on the day he want missing.”

                Derek let his smile fall to a thin line as she spoke. He knit his brows together, but only a little, in the feigned worry that everyone adopts when a stranger is in trouble. He rubbed at his neck.

                “It isn’t the Jacobson’s boy, is it?” The Jacobson’s had lost two of the their three children in a car accident when Derek was a child. He had been good friends with the eldest son. It was Deputy Stilinski who had arranged for Derek to stay with the Jacobson’s for a few months following the fire.

                “No, no-- Zack is fine. It’s my boy, Stiles.” He spoke quickly, like the words burned his tongue.

                “How long?”

                “He’s been missing a week now.”

                Derek let a breath hiss through his teeth. “Sheriff, I don’t want to sound insensitive, but that’s an awful long time for a kid to be out there.”

                “I know that, son. My boy does a lot of stupid things but he’s a smart kid. If anyone can make it out there, it’s him.”

                Delgado steered the conversation back to their visit. “It was Sheriff Ledger’s idea to come to you, Derek. You know these woods better than anyone. Is there anywhere he could be holed up?”

                Derek racked his brain and thought for a few moments. “There’s a shell of a cabin about six miles that way,” He pointed. “It’s a long shot, though. Last I saw it a few years back, it was falling apart. I’d be surprised if it was still standing.”

                “It’s a start.”

                “I’ll keep my eyes open in the meantime. Do you have a flyer? A picture that I can have?” Delgado walked back to the squad car and returned with a folder. She handed Derek a crisp ‘missing person’ flyer.

                “Thank you, son. And I know it’s been a few years now, but Claudia-- my wife-- and your mom, they...” He trailed off, but recovered. “You’re a good kid, Derek. It’s been a few years, but if you need me, I’m here.” He clapped Derek on the shoulder and shook his hand with a warm smile. Derek returned his sentiment.

                “I appreciate that, Sheriff. You let me know if there’s a search party combing through this area. Like you said, Deputy, I know these woods better than anyone.”

                They said their goodbyes and Derek saw them off from his front porch. He walked back inside, locking the door behind him and charging straight into the kitchen.

 

                Stiles had started crying about halfway through the conversation. It was around that time that the smell of blood seeped out of the house. Faint; nothing serious, but it made Derek itch to run inside. Derek came back to see Stiles with his teeth clamped down on the first knuckle of his index finger. He was biting, hard, and had broken skin. His face was wet and his nose was running but he had stayed quiet.

                Derek topped off the bottle and while it was heating up he unstrapped Stiles from his chair. He didn’t respond to Derek and for the time being Derek was okay with that. The scent that rolled off of Stiles was something that Derek had never smelled on him before. It smelled like fear, but deeper, headier. He carried the limp boy up to his room and took his pain with each step. He placed the scent as worry. In all his time with Derek, Stiles had been scared, sad, angry, shocked-- but never worried.

                He left the bottle on the nightstand and brought Stiles into the bathroom. He sat him on the toilet and he folded over, hugging his chest. Derek lapped at the bite marks to clean the wound and bandaged him up. He brought a warm washcloth over Stiles’ face and patted him dry with a new towel.

                Derek wanted so badly to comfort his boy but decided instead to simply lay him down in the crib with his bottle and toys. Stiles had believed that he would make good on his threat to slaughter the strangers at the door and he couldn’t be led to believe otherwise. Sheriff or no, Derek wouldn’t let anyone stand between him and his boy.

                Stiles curled around the toys once he was in bed, drawing all three of them up into his arms. Derek set the bottle on the mattress and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He pulled the fleece blanket up to his chin and tucked him in, rolling him forward just a little to make a snug fit.

                “Have a good nap, Stiles. I’ll come get you in a little while.”

                Derek closed the top of the crib and slid the bolts into place. The boy’s nap was scheduled to last an hour and a half but from what Derek could tell it took Stiles fifty minutes to fall asleep. He decided to let him have the full nap time and busied himself with his own lunch, moving the discarded sleeper and bib from breakfast time into a hamper while his steak cooked. He used his extra hour to tidy up the cellar for his special time with Stiles. Derek had plans to build or purchase proper playroom furniture but nothing he wanted to start with would require serious gear. The cellar looked pretty normal at the moment, with a rug and a couch and a television. The full-moon shackles set into the walls wouldn’t be out of place for long and for now they could add to the atmosphere.

 

                Stiles woke up a little before his nap time was set to be over. He had tired himself out and didn’t mind all that much that he had a chance to lie down. His heart still ached from before but physically he felt better. Everything around him was soft and warm. It was hard to hurt and be surrounded by gentle things. He had spent most of his time in this house asleep. In all of his waking moments he had thought only of himself. Stiles had never even considered what his dad might be going through. His lip began to tremble when his thoughts caught on a loop: _I want dad - I want dad - I want dad -_ He drew a shuddering breath and moved his lips to the mantra, one of the toys clutched to his chest.

                Derek heard him whimpering from the hall. He turned on the overhead light to alert Stiles of his presence but the boy was facing away from the door and his eyes were screwed shut. Derek lifted the cover and dropped the side of the crib so that he could rub circles in the small of his back, shushing all the while.

                “Shhh, Daddy’s right here Stiles,” He turned suddenly to face Derek with puffy eyes and red in his cheeks.

                “Please don’t hurt him,” Stiles sounded pathetic.

                “Don’t hurt who, baby?” Derek scooped him out of the crib and held the boy to his chest so that he could rest his head on his shoulder. Stiles had the wolf toy clutched in one hand. He folded that arm towards his body so that the toy would press against him.

                “My da--“ Stiles stopped, huffed, and turned his head so that it curled under Derek’s chin. “The sheriff,”

                “Someone,” He gave Stiles a bounce and brought him sideways to a bridal carry. “Someone did a very good job of staying quiet when Daddy said so. As long as that special someone keeps doing what Daddy says, Daddy won’t ever need to hurt anyone.” He sat in the rocking chair and cradled Stiles. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to wake up and use your diadee?”

                Stiles hadn’t even thought about peeing. He cursed himself for not taking the chance to go when he was alone after waking up. Derek was happy to give him all the time that he needed. He had enjoyed the one-on-one time he had with Stiles in the rocking chair while he was sleeping and it was even nicer when his baby was wiggling around. Stiles covered his face with the plush wolf and let himself get lost in the rocking. It distracted him from the shame when he peed in his diaper. He jumped and the trickle stopped when Derek’s hand came down to rest on his tummy. A little more pee escaped but then his bladder seized up again. He could feel that he had more to go but his muscle just wouldn’t relax.

                “All done?” Derek left the toy on the chair, brought him to the changing table and undressed him before he restrained his wrists. He set his legs into the dangling cuffs and set about cleaning him up. Stiles’ cheeks burned and he squeezed his eyes shut. Being naked in front of the man was starting to be routine but being trussed up and exposed would never feel normal. He didn’t want to see his legs in the air, suspended by harsh black leather.

 

                Stiles dared to open his eyes when Derek stepped away without giving him a new diaper. He returned with a pacifier, something that Stiles had hoped the man would forget about. He pressed the teat against his lips and prompted him to accept it. Stiles allowed it to slide into his mouth and Derek quickly snapped something to the front of the mouth guard and wrapped it around his head. It pulled the plastic guard against his face and try as he might, the teat was too long and the strap was too tight for Stiles to push it out of his mouth.

                Derek smiled and laughed. Stiles quickly realized that his struggles looked like suckling and stopped, but Derek had already gotten satisfaction out of his predicament.

                Derek released him without putting a new diaper on him. Stiles looked to him and whined behind the gag. He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair and lifted him from the table.

                “Did you forget honey? After nap time we have our special time!”

                Stiles paled. He did forget. It felt like the world closed in around him. There was a rushing in his ears, a weight on his chest, and a hollowness to his cheeks. Derek brought him to the cellar without a fight; it was only when he began to descend the stairs did Stiles seem to gain any control of his limbs. Unfortunately his first instinct was to hold on tighter so he wouldn’t fall. Derek assuredly pat his back. He was talking, too, but Stiles couldn’t hear him over the rushing-- _that’s my blood_ \-- in his ears. Derek squatted down and made sure that Stiles felt the couch beneath him before releasing him and straightening back up.

                He felt very small on the couch. He found himself wishing for a diaper, if only to cover him. He clasped his hands in his lap instead. He stared intently at the floor but looked up when he saw Derek’s hands near his fly. He had already stripped off his shirt and his jeans were soon added to the growing pile of discarded clothing. His socks came next, and when he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers Stiles averted his eyes and blushed. He had already seen all of Derek but that had been rushed, primal-- this was intimate. He felt eyes burning into him and risked a look. Derek was flushed; his eyes were glossy and his chest rose sharply with each controlled breath.

                Derek couldn’t take his eyes off of Stiles. His small virgin boy, stealing glances, nervous and waiting-- _for him_. Untouched, inexperienced, and all for him. Suckling on his paci like a good boy. Ready to submit, ready to be good for his Daddy--

                Stiles endured his stares for what felt like hours but was probably only a handful of seconds. Derek’s dick had grown to half-mast and the flush in his cheeks had spread to his chest. Stiles fidgeted on the cushion and bit down on the gag in his mouth. The movement had brought Derek’s racing thoughts to a halt and he made to recline in the center of the couch. He pulled Stiles into his lap and went straight for his neck, rubbing his stubble against the tender skin and nibbling at his ears and collarbone. He peppered him with kisses and hickies and brought one hand up to caress his boy’s face and tousle his hair. The other hand was flat in the small of his back, supporting him.

                “What’s the matter honey?” Stiles whined behind his gag. “You don’t want your paci?” He whispered. He reached back and loosened the buckle and slowly pulled at the plastic guard. The teat slipped out with a line of drool. Stiles smacked his lips together and left them slightly parted. Derek tossed the pacifier aside and grazed his fingers over the boy’s mouth. He slipped two fingers inside, pushing past his teeth and pressing on his tongue. Stiles let the man do what he wanted. It was a terrible plan, he knew it, but it was also the easiest. The man, _Derek_ , Stiles recalled, was fully erect now. He obviously wanted Stiles and Stiles was sure that whether he returned his affections or pushed him away, it would only make Derek want him more. So he sat prettily in his lap and let the man finger-fuck his mouth.

 

                The fingers pulled away abruptly and a quick, sloppy kiss caught him by surprise. Derek scooted forward and strong hands maneuvered him over the man’s knees. Quick light slaps fell across his bum and Stiles reached to protect himself. Derek caught his wrists and pinned them together behind his back. He palmed at Stiles’ ass, squeezing handfuls of warm, plump flesh.

                “So pretty, baby. So soft...” He landed a few more swats, harder this time, drawing blood to the surface to prevent bruising on his boy. One day he hoped to leave his marks all over but it was too early in the game for anything severe. Stiles wouldn’t know how to separate his punishments from his play if Derek started out rough.

                “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Stiles wriggled and kicked as the blows got more intense; his movements brushed his cock against Derek’s thigh and soon he had a little stiffy for his efforts. He started to cry as his bum turned from light pink to bright red.

                “You’re a good boy Stiles. You’re doing so good,” Derek stopped for a moment to appreciate the heat that was radiating from his boy’s bum. He kneaded at the flesh, working a moan out of Stiles. Derek preened. He hadn’t been sure about the gag, whether it would have been better to leave it on or take it off, but even just one gasp from Stiles was worth risking his running mouth.

                “You like Daddy’s hands, don’t you baby? Nice strong hands,” He laid a single harsh slap across the center of his cheeks, the harshest yet. Stiles gasped. Derek lightly traced his boy’s cleft and Stiles shivered at his touch. He brought his fingers to his mouth and worked a wolf's-worth of saliva over his index finger. He pressed the cold, wet digit against the tiny pucker and pressed. Stiles whined and twisted; Derek pulled away and spanked him five more times.

                “Don’t fight Daddy,” Derek reminded. Stiles cried when the finger returned to his entrance but he didn’t fight. Tremors danced across him and he broke out in a cold sweat.

                “Stop,” He whispered. Derek could barely hear him. As he increased the pressure against Stiles’ hole he felt it twinge and push back. His wolf was near the surface, snarling and howling for him to _take, take, take_ what was rightfully his. He felt a burning behind his eyes and in his jaw. With the threat of a shift dangling over his head, Derek thrust his finger through his boy’s virgin ring until his knuckles were flush against the reddened skin. Stiles gave a soundless cry as he felt his first penetration. He slowly worked his finger about halfway out before plunging back in. He rubbed at the boy’s silky lining and could hold back no longer. He released his grip on Stiles’ wrists. It was no matter; his arms were limp. He lubed his fingers with his own precum and beat himself furiously while his other hand continued its methodic penetration. He came quickly, releasing across Stiles’ back and butt, and then reached lower between his thighs. He thumbed at the boy’s cock and brought him to climax with his finger petting him from deep inside. Stiles grunted adorably as the orgasm shook his body.

                Derek licked the cum off his fingers as Stiles recovered. He inched his finger out of Stiles and turned sideways so that he could push him off his lap and onto the couch. He walked to the adjoining laundry room to clean himself up at the washbasin, then returned for Stiles. The boy was still breathing heavily. He gave an odd shriek as the cold water splashed over his back; it was a shock for his system but relieved some of the sting on his bum.

                Derek kissed him tenderly and whispered praise into his ear. Stiles was his good boy, _his_ good boy, and he was so good, and did such a good job today.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Derek feeds Stiles his lunch and gets an unexpected visitor at his door. This upsets Stiles greatly but it's nap time anyway so Derek lays him down. When he wakes up, as promised, it's special daddy-baby time for Derek and Stiles. Derek gags him and spanks him (hand only) and then penetrates him with his fingers. Derek jerks them both off and then cleans up.
> 
> Chapter WC: 4042


	7. Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek snaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, compared to the others, and this doesn't really advance the plot.
> 
>  
> 
> **NON-CON**
> 
>  
> 
> If you're keeping track, I last posted on 11 Dec. I took a break to draw for a bit. Coming back to this, I wasn't pleased with what I had written. It felt choppy. From what I had planned, the shift in tone was too sudden for my liking and I had to rethink Derek's descent.
> 
> So here's a lull in things, to truly kick off dark!Derek, and I'm going to kick my own ass to have this whole story finished and proofread and posted by the 19th.
> 
> I didn't proofread this so if you're reading this within a day of the update it's the unedited version.
> 
> See the end-notes for a summary of events.

                Stiles was limp in Derek’s arms as he was carried upstairs. In the nursery he was secured to the changing table and endured more soft kisses on his face and chest after his legs were bound and hoisted into the air. Derek retrieved a jar from the adjoining bathroom and tenderly massaged a generous amount of cream over his bum. Fingers delved between his cheeks and over his hole; Stiles jumped against the touch but Derek moved on quickly. His bum was still sore from the spanking and his ring felt raw from the penetration. Powder and a diaper came next, and then Derek stepped away to get him clothes. He was dressed in a light blue onesie; the graphic on the front called him ‘Daddy’s Puppy!’ and was accompanied by a cartoon of a happy brown dog.

                “Daddy will be right back, angel,” He pressed a pacifier past the boy’s lips and ruffled his hair before leaving to dress himself. Stiles spit it out onto the floor.

                He returned in a gray wife-beater and sweatpants. “All set!” Derek talked as he released Stiles from the restraints. “Oh no! Did you lose your paci?” He picked the sparkly plastic up and popped it into his own mouth before offering it back up to Stiles. He curled his lip but Derek pressed on. “There you go, sweet boy.”

                Holding the boy against his hip, Derek sauntered over to the toy chest and lowered Stiles onto his feet. He supported the boy by keeping his butt pressed against his chest and an arm wrapped around his thighs. Derek opened the lid and told Stiles he could pick out whatever he wanted to play with. There were a lot of options. From what Stiles could see most of the toys were for really little babies, all rattles and rings. Derek frowned at his lackluster response. He pushed Stiles to his knees and hugged him to his chest, breathing in his scent.

                “Don’t you like your toys?” Answering would require Stiles to spit out the pacifier or talk around it. Babbling behind the teat was out of the question but he wasn’t so bold as to risk getting the pacifier strapped around his face. Instead he cautiously moved himself towards the chest and hovered his hand over the toys. He grabbed the first thing that didn’t look like it was made for infants: a toy taxi cab.

                “Do you want to play cars, babe?” Stiles gave a meek nod and was rewarded with another sloppy kiss. Derek’s large hands enveloped his own and he raked both of their hands through the toy chest, pulling out cars as they found them. Once they had gathered a handful, Derek pocketed the toy cars and brought Stiles up off the carpet.

 

                Stiles was settled onto the living room rug. Derek placed the toy cars in front of him but didn’t hang around to play like before; instead he pulled a worn paperback from one of the shelves and plopped down in his armchair. Stiles didn’t touch the toys right away. Even with the rug and carpet the floor was hard against his bottom and the sting from his spanking hadn’t quite faded away.

                The gravity of the past few hours had yet to hit home. Stiles had had many, many fantasies about his first sexual foray but none of them matched up to... whatever that was. He felt hurt and confused. He was grateful that Derek hadn’t raped him but he still felt raped. The spanking had been harsh and unprovoked and it had hurt the whole way through, but Derek had praised him all the while. Derek made him feel dirty but he also made him feel special. Stiles couldn’t honestly describe what he was feeling. A part of him hoped things would get better and part of him knew things would only get worse.

                His last sliver of hope brought him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t touched the toys and Derek had lowered his book, eyeing him expectantly. His sense of self-preservation willed his hands to reach out for the cars, nudging them back and forth. They didn’t roll very well on the rug but Stiles rolled them anyway, watching the man for appeasement. He went back to his book.

                His limbs felt foreign. Stiles made to brace his weight against his forearm as he attempted to shift his position; his weight was too much and his arm buckled beneath him, leaving him on his side. It wasn’t quite what he was going for, but it was close enough. With the pressure off his sore backside, Stiles continued to shift the cars around. It got boring fast. He made a short game of rolling them towards Derek’s armchair. He used all of his strength to send them flying in hopes of getting them under the chair. They all tripped up at the rug’s edge.

 

                It caught Derek’s attention at least. He huffed and dog-eared his page before striding over to Stiles and scooping him up easily. “I know, I know. Daddy’s so selfish for wanting a couple of minutes to himself.” Stiles was peppered with kisses as Derek carried him to the kitchen. “I think I made you a promise earlier. You were such a good boy during lunch so you get to eat dinner with Daddy!” Derek used a sing-song voice that had Stiles rolling his eyes.

                He whined when he was lowered into the highchair and again when Derek fastened a bib around his neck. “It’s only for a bit, babe, Daddy can’t cook and cuddle at the same time.” The harness remained undone but the tray was snapped into place. Stiles sat for a minute before cautiously removing his pacifier and setting it on the tray. He took his chance to fiddle with it while Derek bustled himself around the kitchen. He tinkered with the sides, he pushed and pulled, he lifted and pressed. Nothing. He’d have to watch carefully when Derek removed it. It bothered Stiles that the tray was such a finicky thing when there was a dungeon-grade harness over the chair. It creeped into his head that if the tray was enough to hold him, the only functional reason for the harness was to scare him.

                A clatter in the sink brought him out of it. Derek had finished the dinner prep and was plating food; again, ceramic and cutlery for him, and a plastic bowl with a soft-tipped spoon for Stiles. He brought it to the actual dining room, came back around for drinks, and in one swift motion had the tray unlatched and on the table. Strong hands grabbed him under the arms and Stiles was settled at the table in Derek’s lap. Derek sat perched on his chair, far enough off the seat for Stiles to straddle his thigh and let his legs dangle. The thick padding swaddled around his lower half provided a much needed buffer between the man’s rock-hard thigh and the boy’s sore bottom.

                Dinner was simple. For Derek, an undercooked steak with mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus. For Stiles, a bowl of tan purée, undoubtedly an odd mixture of vegetables. Stiles hadn’t heard the blender so either it came from a jar or Derek had prepared it at some other time. Derek made a point to cut his steak right away so he could alternate bites of his own dinner and feeding Stiles. He assumed the worst about the puree until the first spoonful pressed against his stubborn lips. It was bland, mostly, and only a little sweet. Squash, probably. Stiles thought carefully about the flavors in each bite. It was a bit of a game for him, guessing the ingredients. Much more interesting than the toddler toys still scattered across the living room floor. Derek cooed and mumbled all throughout dinner and paused after every couple of spoonfuls so that Stiles could sip at his water.

 

                Derek circled the spoon around the bowl, scraping together one final bite. Stiles was secretly grateful. Derek hadn’t let him feel hungry but the meals and bottles were barely enough to fill him. He wanted to think that the meager portions were because of the baby treatment and not to keep him weak.

                Bath time follows dinner, so says Derek. Derek laid him in the center of his enormous bed and rolled across the mattress to cuddle up to his side. Stiles froze at the sudden closeness. One of his hands brushed his cheek and snaked down his chest to rest on his tummy. Something took a hold of him and he turned his head to face Derek. Their faces were so close. He could feel the man’s hot breath huffing against his cheeks. His eyes had the glazed look to them. Focused but unfocused. Maybe watery.

                But only for a second. The hand slipped lower and gave the diaper a gentle squeeze. “It’s time to make pee-pee, baby boy.” Derek released his grip after he spoke but slid off the bed and stood by expectantly.

                _Shit_. Stiles didn’t have to go. Daddy had said it was time to go but Stiles didn’t have to. He didn’t want Daddy to press on his tummy but if he didn’t _go_ he would.

                Derek heard the uptick in his heartbeat before it was obvious that tears were welling up in his eyes. “Oh, you haven’t had enough to drink yet, huh?” Stiles didn’t move or respond but willed himself to blink the tears away. “Daddy will be right back, pumpkin.”

                And just like that, he left. Stiles heard his heavy feet thunder down the stairs. It was the first time in a long time he was alone and unbound. So badly, so badly he ached to stand up and leave. He rolled to the edge of the bed. All he had to do was swing his legs over the side and walk away. But Stiles didn’t do that. He rolled himself back towards the center and held his breath. Self-preservation reared its head and commanded that he stay put. This wasn’t his chance. He wouldn’t make it to the stairs, let alone the door. No, this wasn’t his chance. This was a test. It was good that Derek let him alone for a minute. It meant that trust was building. Or maybe Stiles was breaking, and Derek knew it. He wouldn’t entertain the thought.

                Derek came back with a bottle filled with water. He crawled into bed and sat propped against the headboard with Stiles between his legs. He grabbed the boy by the armpits and hauled him up against his chest, one arm wrapping around his waist. Stiles was still partially reclined; even without craning his neck he could see Derek looking down at him, smiling assuredly. When the man shifted his hips he could feel his erection pressed against his back. He shuddered. Stiles suckled fiercely, desperate to feel the wetness on his tongue. The size of the teat made it difficult.

                The man barked a laugh. “There’s my thirsty boy. Mm, that’s nice, isn’t it?” he cooed. Stiles stiffened when he began to brush small circles on his tummy but his touches were light.

                When the bottle was empty Derek carefully extracted himself from underneath Stiles. He stayed on the bed, propped up on one arm and pressed against Stiles. The glassy eyes were back and his lips were parted slightly. Without looking away he raised his hand to cup Stiles’ face, stroking his thumb back and forth across his lips. Stiles kept his eyes averted, heartrate ticking up.

                “So pretty,” he breathed.

                In one moment the hand shifted down and latched around the boy’s neck. Quickly Derek straddled him, his momentum temporarily bearing down on the hand engulfing the slender flesh. Stiles choked and Derek let up but he brought his claws out to prick at the boy’s skin. Derek straightened his back and inched forward on the bed. He freed his full erection from his sweatpants and danced his fingers across his tip to gather precum and lube his hand. He pumped as furiously as Stiles had suckled and stared long and hard at the boy’s red and teary face shuddering in his grip. He wanted that memory forever.

                “I know what you need baby boy. You need Daddy’s milk, don’t you?” He stopped his strokes and angled himself at Stiles, pressing the head of his erection against the boy’s glossy, rosy lips. Stiles couldn’t stop the wail that escaped him. He tried to turn his head but that shifted the pressure on his neck.

                “Shh, shhh, none of that baby,” Derek assured him. “Daddy knows you aren’t ready, not yet.” He retracted his claws and relaxed his grip, his hand now simply a presence without pressure on the boy’s neck. “Go ahead and have a taste, honey. Little lick. C’mon, let Daddy see that little pink tongue,”

                Stiles could only think of the end. He scrunched his eyes shut and danced a kitten-lick across the head.

                It was enough for Derek. “What a good boy Stiles, so good for Daddy.” He was close now, very close. “Keep those pretty lips open, baby. It’s time for Daddy’s milk.” He gave Stiles a rough squeeze, bringing forth another choke. While the boy’s mouth was open he thrust his hips forward and settled his tip in his mouth. The boy whined and whimpered around his cock and Derek growled as he came. His load, hot and salty, erupted into the soft cavern, coating his teeth and pooling at the back of his throat.

                Derek fell back and rested his weight on Stiles’ chest. “Swallow baby,” he instructed, voice still a little hoarse. When Derek felt the boy’s throat move under his hand he released him, finally, and climbed off the bed. He pulled Stiles closer to the edge, stripped him bare, and left him to lie while he ran a bath-- but not without a parting kiss.

 

                Derek sat with him in the tub and cleaned him properly from the day’s ordeals. Stiles was at his most vulnerable and it was enthralling how he leaned in for any gentle touch. His reservations about the whole thing were surfacing again. The beast in him was satisfied with the boy’s submission. It no longer snapped and snarled and whined in sad, righteous anger. It reveled in the whimpers and the cries of the boy’s subordination.

                Something was different, though. When he had first placed the boy in his bed the pull had been so sudden and so strong that he couldn’t stop himself from getting closer. He snapped out of it but the need for closeness never abated. It only festered as his sweet boy worked at the bottle; once he thought of something better for the boy to suckle there was no turning back. As he ran the soapy washcloth across the lithe, shaking boy he again felt something pull at his heart, a pull that he could now recognize as something he hadn’t felt in a long while.

                The need to avenge his family was melting away. Derek was mourning properly after all these years. His heart moved, yes, but not for what he had lost. His heart moved for what he had found-- his new pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek makes good on his promise to eat dinner with Stiles. He's overcome with lust and forces Stiles to take the head of his cock into his mouth while he cums.
> 
> Chapter WC: 2554


	8. Eat Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good, the bad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's a Sunday night and I have class at 9 tomorrow and I'm drunk! The last 1000 words or so haven't been proofread and I wrote them just now (while tipsy) so any mistakes or tense changes-- if you're reading this within a day of posting, I can't make any guarantees.
> 
> I made a decision to cut this chapter short. It was supposed to go a little farther but I've decided to post those events as their own chapter. If you've made it this far you know that I don't care for warnings and if anything, I lump them together with a curt summary in the end notes. Up to this point, this story has not disguised the fact that Derek physically assaults Stiles. However, even by my standard, it's just a too much to not section off. I'm writing this for me, and it's what I want to read, but I understand that there's a line that's drawn when other people read, too.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the good feels while they last, because this is the rise before the fall. I also updated the tags.
> 
> See end-notes for a summary of events.

                Stiles suckled at the bottle while Derek cradled him in the rocking chair. The thick, plain formula couldn’t wipe the feel and taste of Derek’s cum from his mouth. After the bath he was rubbed down with an unscented lotion and put back in a diaper and footed sleeper. One of Derek’s arms was reverently supporting his head and neck, tilting him slightly so that he had to look up at the man who looked down on him. Stiles was in limbo for the time being. He couldn’t say he was surprised that Derek would pin him on the bed and threaten to crush his windpipe with a clawed hand; he’d been slapped, dragged, kicked, and spanked. It was the abruptness of the attack that got to him. Stiles had put physical violence as always being preceded by a provocation-- biting, running, swearing-- but Derek had again shown that he was unpredictable.

                Stiles didn’t like that he couldn’t find the pattern. He can’t play Derek’s game if he doesn’t know the rules. He had a selfish thought that he let himself entertain: if the police came back, he would yell. He would yell and scream and Derek would snap at their necks with his long, sharp teeth-- and they would die-- _maybe his dad would die... his dad would want him to live, right?_ \-- and maybe they would shoot Derek, and Derek would die-- _can werewolves be killed that way?_ \-- and maybe Derek will kill him-- _does Derek really think he can slaughter an officer and get away with it?_ \-- he doesn’t need to get away with it, he’s a wolf, he can live in the woods--

                Stiles risked a glance at Derek. He was frowning slightly but Stiles took that as a good sign. From what he’s seen, he only had to worry when his face was seriously relaxed. Derek could hear that his heart was beating a little faster than normal and he could smell the anxiety from his racing thoughts.

                Stiles stopped suckling and tried to push the nipple out of his mouth. Derek held the bottle steady and bounced him a little but Stiles wouldn’t start drinking again. There wasn’t too much left, but there was enough for Derek to push him.

                “C’mon, honey, you have to finish your baba,” His voice was low and scratchy, like the words had to fight their way out of his mouth. He cleared his throat and Stiles jumped at the loud noise. Derek shifted him in his lap and reassuringly rubbed the back of his neck.

                Stiles huffed around the nipple but started suckling again. The water from earlier had worked through his system and the formula wasn’t doing anything to help the pressure on his bladder. Derek hadn’t forced him to go yet, though, and Stiles didn’t want to provoke him.

                When he finished a minute later, Derek put the bottle aside and propped him up a little more. His frown had deepened.

                “You know that Daddy will help you when you need him, right?” He pointedly brought his gaze to meet Derek’s but didn’t say anything. “You don’t need to be scared to ask for help. That’s Daddy’s job, to help his baby,” Derek carried him to the adjoining bathroom and sat him on the toilet. He crouched in front of him to brush his teeth, keeping his head stable and angled with his free hand.

                Stiles kept still as Derek restrained him in the crib. He swiped a finger under each cuff as he went along to make sure they weren’t too tight. Derek snuggled the plush wolf into the crook of his arm and while Stiles couldn’t really move, he curled his wrist inward so that he could rest the palm of his hand against the soft fur. He kissed Stiles on his lips before slipping him a pacifier and wishing him sweet dreams.

 

-x-

 

                He gets it now. He didn’t get it earlier when Derek was talking about it but for fuck’s sake, _he gets it now_. He woke up in the dark room with an ache in his stomach. He really, _really_ had to pee. It wasn’t physically possible to fall back asleep without going.

                So he took a deep breath and let go. His warmth began to pool around his bottom, soaking that one area, so he bucked his hips and pushed his thighs together as much as he could in the restraints to try and coax it to flow somewhere else. It ended up soaking his lower back and hips and Stiles decided that he would have rather had the large, soaked bulk between his thighs. He hadn’t gone at all in the hours leading up to bedtime so there was a lot of pee. The overnight diaper was already thick and now it felt like it doubled in size.

                Once the liquid settled it wasn’t so bad. He could smell it a little, but if he kept still he could pretend it wasn’t there. Stiles closed his eyes and regulated his breathing to distract his mind from focusing too hard on one thought or another. He laid there for half an hour and came close to drifting off but the warmth in the diaper had faded and soon it would be downright cold. It couldn’t be ignored.

                He gets it now, what Derek said earlier. The bastard wasn’t going to make him use the diaper. Stiles had no choice but to use the diaper anyway. No, he was going to make the boy ask his Daddy for a diaper change.

                Stiles craned his neck over his shoulder peeked through the bars at the window. The curtains were drawn but Stiles couldn’t see the faint light of early morning peeking through the top or sides. It was the middle of the night. He closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep but the diaper was cold and clammy against his skin.

                The sooner he got it over with, the better.

                “Derek!” He called normally, then again at the top of his lungs. Derek woke with a start after the first call; he was disoriented from sleep but the tone of the second shout wasn’t panicked or hurt, just insistent. He could smell Stiles’ predicament from where he was in bed.

                Stiles waited but the man didn’t come for him. He shouted again, then let out a disgusted huff and cried, “Daddy!”

                That’s what Derek was waiting for. He didn’t like that Stiles had another name for him but it couldn’t be helped. He made his way to Stiles’ room and lowered the side of the crib so that he could run his fingers through his hair and comfort his boy.

                “Shhh, hush, Daddy’s here. What is it baby boy, did you have a bad dream?” Derek released the restraints and hugged the boy to his chest so that his bum was supported by his forearm and his head was resting on his shoulder. He bounced him gently and hushed while he sauntered around the room.

 

                Stiles shuddered and struggled to form words. He felt like his last shred of dignity was sitting in the back of his throat and that it would escape if he opened his mouth to ask for his own piss to be cleaned from his body.

                When he spoke it was barely a whisper. “Change,” Derek’s sharp hearing picked up on his mumbling and he tilted the boy back a little so that he could see his face. Stiles wouldn’t look at him.

                “Do you need a diaper change, baby boy?” Stiles crashed forward and buried his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. Derek preened. The boy gave a tiny nod and Derek laid him down on the table. He didn’t bother with the cuffs. Instead, he folded Stiles’ legs back a bit so that his ankles could rest on Derek’s shoulders. He gave the boy a thorough once-over with cool wet wipes and gently massaged a generous amount of baby powder into his soft, smooth skin.

                With a clean diaper fastened around his hips, Stiles was lowered back into his crib and restrained once more. His toy was snuggled against his side and he got another good-night kiss from Derek.

                Stiles closed his eyes and sleep came easily.

 

-x-

 

                Derek didn’t mind that his diaper was dry in the morning. Stiles was secured to the changing table, naked as the day he was born, and waiting for Derek to finish rifling around in the bins below the table. When he came back up, he had a small box in his hand. He cleaned and powdered Stiles like usual but didn’t tape up his diaper right away.

                From the box he pulled a clear bottle and a silicone butt plug. Stiles has seen porn. He’s seen lots of porn. He knows what it is.

                “Oh fucking- _hell no_.”

                “None of that, Stiles,” Derek chastised. He gave him ten quick swats with his hand to the back of his exposed thighs. It was more for consistency than punishment.

                “Daddy wanted to be the first one to stretch your little hole. Now that Daddy’s had his fingers in your bum, we can start playing with lots of fun toys!” He drizzled lube over the plug until it dripped and ran down his arm, then squirted a little extra onto the pads of his fingers and ensured that the entire surface of the plug was covered in lube.

                Stiles was shaking in his bonds and the suspension of his legs prevented his hips from bucking against Derek as he roughly pried his cheeks apart and lined the tip of the plug up with his hole. It was a step up from the smallest plug in the training set and still Derek had to press it in slowly. Stiles was so tight. He eased up and watched the plug slide out a bit as Stiles’ body naturally rejected the intrusion. Derek was second-guessing how much he wanted to stretch Stiles. He wanted the boy to have a hungry, sloppy hole but he got so hard when he thought about how good it would feel to always have Stiles pushing back on his dick when he fucked him.

                The widest part of the plug was breaching Stiles’ rim and Derek could hear him whining. The boy was getting hard and tugging against his bonds. He pushed the plug just a little more and allowed Stiles’ body to take in the rest. The flared base nestled against his bum and twitched when his rim clenched around the narrow stem. Derek wriggled the base in small, slow circles and watched with deep fascination as Stiles’ erection filled out and dripped with his arousal.

                “Please take it out,” Stiles begged. He didn’t try to hide the plea in his voice. “I don’t like it, Daddy, please Daddy, take it out,”

                Derek wiped the lube off his fingers and taped up the diaper. He ran his hands up and over Stiles’ chest and sides and hushed him. He pinched at his nipples, not unkindly, and praised him. “You did so good, Stiles. You have such a greedy little hole. I didn’t have to push the plug in, baby, you swallowed it right up. Such a good boy for Daddy,”

                He’s dressed in a plain white onesie but instead of going downstairs for breakfast, Derek settled him back in the crib and restrained him. He strapped a pacifier into his mouth and secured a blindfold over his eyes. Stiles was scared so Derek took a minute to ruffle his hair and thumb at his cheeks while he cooed soft nonsense to him.

                “Daddy has to go away for a couple of hours. You’ll be safe right here in your crib, okay babe?” Stiles protested from behind the pacifier but Derek couldn’t really make out his words. “You’re safe, baby. Daddy will be back as soon as he can.” He kissed Stiles on his nose and tucked him in with his toys and a warm fleece blanket. He hesitated as he closed the door. “I love you, Stiles.”

 

                Derek decided that Stiles should have a playpen. While he didn’t trust Stiles to play unsupervised right now, down the line, Derek wanted to be able to sit Stiles down for playtime and not have to worry about the silly boy wandering off (or losing his toy cars under the furniture...). Obviously he’d have to make the playpen himself; none of the children’s playpens are big enough to comfortably hold Stiles and his toys. Derek had looked around online and considered frankensteining something out of outdoor fence pieces but he wanted the look-and-feel of a playpen, not a gazebo.

                He’d run the numbers and drawn up some plans after Stiles went to bed last night. The playpen he had in mind was all interlocking, foldable pieces and would take quite a bit of time to cut, sand, and put together.

                Before he got in his car, Derek double checked his lumber supply. By his calculations he had enough lying around to make the playpen, but he needed to go to the hardware store to purchase the correct locking and folding mechanisms.

 

-x-

 

                Stiles was _pissed_. Derek didn’t need to be a werewolf to feel the tension in the air when he finally got home.

                He refused to let it bother him. Instead, he ignored the boy’s muffled curses and got right on with his plan.

                “Aww, what a grumpy little boy. You’re grumpy, aren’t you?” He booped Stiles on the nose and laughed when he thrashed in the crib. “Grumpy ‘cause you’re hungry for breakkie, huh?” Derek smiled a real, genuine smile. Honest to God, he was happy to be back home with his boy.

                Derek removed the blindfold and pacifier and cleaned his face with a warm washcloth before removing him from his crib. Funny enough, Stiles' tirade of curses stopped once the pacifier was out. He licked his lips and focused on working his jaw.

                Derek had the decency to remove the plug and give Stiles a clean diaper before breakfast. He spread his cheeks to have a look at his hole. The healthy pink he saw before had angered a bit and was now more red than anything. It twitched against the cold air. Derek could feel that it was bothering Stiles so he allowed his veins to run black as he took the pain. It would still feel funny, but at least it wouldn’t hurt for a little while.

 

                Derek thought that Stiles deserved a reward for being such a good boy and he told him as much. Stiles was secured to his highchair with the tight-fitting harness and the tray was locked in place in front of him. Instead of warming up a bottle or chopping veggies for purée, Derek started to pull a whole bunch of ingredients from the pantry and the fridge. He mixed up a batter with flour, eggs, milk, sugar, butter, and baking powder, and when Stiles realized what he’s making, he almost forgave him. Almost.

                The pancakes only needed a few minutes to cook so Derek frantically chopped up bananas and strawberries for toppings. Stiles laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was odd to see Derek get all panicked. Derek flipped the pancakes in a hurry and when he saw that they were a perfect, crisp, golden brown, he couldn’t help himself from giving a victorious fist pump. Stiles laughed at him but Derek could only be happy because Stiles was happy.

                While the first batch was still warm, Derek plated two of the pancakes for Stiles and brought over small plastic bowls filled with chopped fruit.

                “You can have as many pancakes as you want, babe, but if you eat yourself sick I won’t be making pancakes again.” Stiles knew that he meant what he said. He didn’t want to risk losing pancakes forever so he nodded his head and decorated his pancakes with fruit.

                Derek brought a bottle of syrup to his high chair and drizzled it over his pancakes until Stiles told him to stop. Derek hadn’t given him any utensils so Stiles ate with his hands, licking the sticky syrup from his fingers between bites. Derek watched him closely for a second, relishing the sight of his pink lips and tongue suckling at the sweet, sticky mess. He forced his head out of the gutter and started up the next batch. Stiles ate those pancakes, too, and the batch after that, but then he declared himself full and allowed Derek to clean him up with a warm washcloth. He wiped at his face then meticulously cleaned each of his fingers to ensure that no sticky syrup was left behind.

 

                There was still some batter left for Derek’s breakfast. Before he started up the final batch, Derek opened the fridge and turned to face Stiles. “You can have milk, water, or juice. What’ll it be, baby?” Normally Stiles would jump at the chance for juice but the syrup had him all sugared out.

                “Milk,” he requested, and Derek let a smirk cross his lips. He pulled the gallon of whole milk from the fridge and served Stiles his drink in a sippy cup with a free-flowing sprout. Stiles drank quickly at first but once the sweetness had been washed from his mouth he set the cup down and settled for an occasional sip.

                Derek scraped at the sides of the mixing bowl to finish up the last batch of pancakes. He alternated bites of pancake and leftover fruit, earning himself a look from Stiles when he polished off the pancakes without any syrup.

 

                The dishes piled up in the sink but Derek made no move to wash them. Instead, he released Stiles from his highchair and settled him onto his hip. Stiles felt full and (almost) happy for the first time since arriving at Derek’s. He allowed himself to forget the early-morning transgressions because it meant that he could enjoy the now. Derek bounced him on his hip and carried him to the living room. Stiles stole a glance at the kitchen clock as they left; although it was barely 11:00 AM he had already been awake for hours and he was feeling tired.

                Of course Derek noticed. “Daddy has some work to do in the shed. You can sit with Daddy if you want, or you can have a nap. It will probably get a little loud,” he warned.

                Stiles blinked. He hadn’t been outside for a couple of days so he decided to capitalize on Derek’s good mood.

                “Outside,” he said.

                “Outside with Daddy?” Derek asked, for clarification. Stiles nodded so Derek gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and made his way to the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long day, Derek gets Stiles tucked into bed. Stiles wakes up in the night and uses his diaper. Derek has to come and change him. In the morning, Derek fits Stiles with a blindfold, a pacifier gag, and a butt plug and leaves him tied up while he goes shopping. Once he gets home, Derek makes pancakes for breakfast to reward his good boy.
> 
> Chapter WC: 3134


	9. The Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is a man of his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY YOU.  
> This is dark!Derek. There's abuse in every chapter but heads up, even I have to draw a line somewhere. The detailed stuff is roped off in tildes (~). You can also check the end notes for a summary of events, if you want specifics.
> 
>    
> There's one more chapter, then the endings.
> 
>  
> 
> See the end-notes for a summary of events.

                Derek’s workshop is a craftsman’s wet dream. Most of the tools are old, older than Derek, but consistent, meticulous maintenance has kept them in top condition. They were top-of-the-line when they were bought. Derek’s father wouldn’t have invested in anything less. His own workshop had been an afterthought: Talia wouldn’t let him construct it as an addition to the house- too much noise, she’d said- so he settled for a shed constructed on the edge of the property, much like Derek has now. It was spared from the fire, and for a few good years his livelihood collected dust in a storage unit.

                Emptying the unit and learning woodwork was one of Derek’s many attempts to feel reconnected with his dead family. He had learned a thing or two from his father, sure, but in his youth he had had no mind for it. In time he would learn to like it, or at least, he liked that working with his hands kept his mind from wandering.

                Derek recreated the workshop as he remembered it, save for a small addition of his own preference. Where his father would draft by hand right on the worktables, Derek preferred the ease of CAD software. To keep the dust away from the computer, Derek partitioned a small room in the back of the shed. It was as spartan as his house, twelve feet long and six feet wide, with a computer desk and rolling chair in the far corner. Traditional drafting equipment sat on a long table pushed against the opposite wall.

 

                Derek hummed as he crossed the yard with Stiles in his arms. The boy was stiff, alert, but he kept himself pressed to Derek’s chest and one of his small hands grasped at the collar of his Daddy’s shirt. Derek’s heart fluttered at the small gesture. The man had left the large double doors of the shed propped open after he dropped his purchases inside and the curious boy twisted in his arms to take in all the sights of the workshop as they drew closer.

                Derek brought him to the back room; although it wasn’t sound-proof, the heavy wooden door and walls would keep out the worst of the sound and dust. He paused in front of the door. Stiles leaned back to look at him and his hesitation, and Derek met his gaze with a smile.

                “Remember how a long time ago, Daddy said he got you lots of presents?” Stiles blinked, swallowed, then dipped his head in a small nod. “Well, another one of your surprises is in here.” Derek smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Close your eyes, babe, and don’t open them until I tell you,” Stiles swallowed again, harder this time, but he closed his eyes. He couldn’t help that his mind jumped to entertain the worst-case scenario.

                Derek opened the door and shuffled inside. He shifted Stiles from his hip to his forearm then allowed the boy to slip through his fingers until he held him by the armpits. He lowered Stiles to the plush rug on the ground and crouched down beside him, with one hand in the small of his back for support and the other resting on the boy’s pale thigh.

                “Okay babe, you can open your eyes!” Derek gave him an excited little shake and Stiles had his first look at his new present.

 

                It was a child’s play workshop, and a grand one at that, all blues and grays and oranges, near overflowing with plastic replica tools; it was huge, and the perfect height for Stiles to sit comfortably on the rug as he played. Derek pressed at his back to urge him forward. Stiles crawled- _crawled_ \- to the other side of the rug to examine the playset better. He felt around it carefully, mindful of Derek’s expectant eyes bearing into his back. The table was sturdy enough for him to lean against and from the weight of the toy drill in his hand, everything was made from quality, hollow plastic.

                Stiles turned to look at Derek. He forced a tiny smile across his lips and the man’s face lit up. Derek moved to sit beside Stiles and he took it upon himself to tell Stiles all about the tools, rattling off their names and passing them to Stiles so that he could hold each and every one. He opened the cabinets to show his boy that they were filled with building materials, mostly wood-textured boards made from thin plastic (with rounded edges), and all kinds of ‘nails’ that would hold them together.

                He held one of the plastic nails in his hand and was about to pass it to Stiles before his fingers curled around it. His sputtering ended almost as abruptly as it had started. Derek straightened himself a bit and turned the toy over in his hand.

                “Now, Stiles,” he began, “These are big-boy toys I’m trusting you with. Do not put the toys in your mouth. Can Daddy trust you not to put the toys in your mouth?” Stiles was slow to respond; for a moment, Derek had let one of his walls come down. Stiles was reminded of his own passionate rants, and figured that Derek snapped out of it when it crossed his mind that his precious boy could choke on the small parts.

                “I won’t,” He said, to appease the man.

                “You won’t what?” Of course, it’s never enough.

                “I won’t put the toys in my mouth,”

                “Good boy,” Derek handed him the small piece of plastic and Stiles worried it with his fingers. “Oh! And just to be safe,” He leaned to one side and fished a pacifier with a strap dangling from the ring out of his pocket. Derek popped the pacifier into his own mouth first before holding it out for the boy. Stiles was only mildly disgusted so he opened his mouth and accepted the soft teat. The strap didn’t go around his face, to Stiles’ surprise: Derek’s hands worked delicately to clip the free end to his onesie.

                “So you don’t lose your suckie, honey,” Derek gave his chest a gentle pat, then stood. “Daddy will be right in there,” he gestured through the open door, “I’ll check in on you every now and again, but if you need Daddy you go ahead and yell. Okay Stiles?”

                Stiles hummed and shifted the pacifier to the side of his mouth so he could chew on the nipple. Derek made to leave but before he closed the door he paused with his shoulders in the doorway.

                “Daddy is working on another surprise for you. Why don’t you make a surprise for Daddy?”

                Stiles stared at him for a moment and nodded when he realized that Derek wanted a response.

 

                “Good boy, Stiles,” The door closed, and Stiles waited. He waited until the sound of power tools drifted in through the wooden walls, then cautiously crawled towards the computer. He had seen the monitor from the corner of his eye when he had been listening to Derek talk about the tools and it took every ounce of his willpower not to risk a second glance. Derek had been too engrossed with showing his little boy all of his new toys to notice the light sweat that had broken out on his forehead.

                _Could Derek really have forgotten about it? Was this another test?_ Stiles thought back to the night before, when he was in such a dark place that he’d risk his own dad’s life-

                Daring to move only when he had sound for cover, he gave the chair a small push so that he could reach the mouse from his position on the floor.

                He gave it a wiggle with his eyes glued to the monitor.

                Nothing.

                The power light along the bottom edge of the monitor stayed dark. Stiles rose up on his knees and when the cacophony of drills started up again, he leaned across the desk and pushed the button.

                Nothing.

                Huffing behind the pacifier, Stiles held on to his resolve and sat back down on his haunches, shuddering as his stretched hole naturally eased open from the stress of the position. He shifted, adjusting himself, and the diaper cushioned his bum against the sharp bone of his heels. Stiles turned his attention to the tower, hidden behind a small cabinet in the desk itself. The cabinet hiccupped a little as it opened, a sign that it would be eager to close, so he kept one hand on the door as his other hovered over the power button.

                Stiles was having second thoughts. Surely Derek’s unnatural hearing would pick up on the sound of a running computer- the whirring of the fans, the rotation of the disks, the clicks and snaps of switches. He sat stone-still for maybe five or six minutes, just listening to the sounds coming from the workshop, looking for a pattern in the power tools. There was none.

                With a steadying breath, Stiles brought his finger to the power button and pushed.

                Nothing.

                He emptied his lungs in a heaving sigh that brought his whole torso to a slouch. Maybe it was in relief, or resignation, or both. There was an uneasiness in his stomach but he couldn’t tell if he was sad that this plan wouldn’t work or if he was happy he couldn’t be caught using the computer.

                Anger came next, and it came with clarity. Stiles was angry that he put his life on the line by acting on impulse. _Impulse!_ He couldn’t afford to act on impulse. There was no plan. What would he do if the computer was password-protected? What would he do if the computer didn’t get internet? What the fuck _could_ he even do? Instant message the police? What if Derek checked in-

                Stiles breathed. He closed the cabinet with great care, then rolled the chair back to its centralized position under the desk. He crawled- _crawled!_ \- back to the soft rug and sat in front of the toy workshop. He turned to give the desk one last look. The power outlet was protected with a locking safety cover. _The damn thing wasn’t even plugged in._

 

                Derek might be mad if he didn’t engage in his fantasy so Stiles played as if it were any other chore. He started to make a box but the casual thought occurred that Derek wouldn’t give a fuck what he made, so Stiles scrapped the box and just started connecting the plastic panels together in any way he could think to fit them. There were a lot of different sizes, and while some of the nails would keep the boards in a fixed position, the rounded ones allowed for the pieces to rotate. If Stiles had found these toys at literally any other time in his life, he might have even liked them.

                He pushed the monstrosity of an art project away and laid back on the rug. He was still tired and he was getting kind of thirsty. He spit the pacifier out, disgusted that he’d been suckling without a second thought. His disgust deepened when he wished that Derek would check up on him so that he could have a drink and take a nap. It had to have been at least thirty minutes since Stiles was left alone, but the power tools kept whirring.

                Stiles wanted to know what Derek was building so that he could know what he was getting into. He made a game of recalling all of the devious contraptions he’d seen on the internet and he had to stifle a nervous laugh when he caught himself hoping Derek would make more nursery furniture.

 

                Curiosity got the better of him. He pulled himself upright and stepped towards the door. Derek hadn’t explicitly forbidden him from standing or walking, he just didn’t have many opportunities to do so. The door didn’t even have a lock, so Stiles opened it just enough to take a look around the workshop floor.

                Derek was slouched over a worn table, glancing between a stack of papers and a long, thin block of wood, with his back slighted towards the entrance. Protective googles were pushed high up on his head and a facemask dangled low around his neck. Industrial headphones covered his ears. After a moment, he straightened and made a couple of thoughtful, measured marks on the block, then set it further down the table next to what looked like a garden lattice. He turned back to the papers.

                The same rapt attention that possessed him earlier had returned; if Derek knew that Stiles was outside of the safety of the back room he’d be at the door and ushering his curious boy back inside.

 

                It was the chance Stiles had been waiting for. His legs twitched, yearning to move forward, but his iron grip on the doorframe kept him rooted in place. Just minutes ago he had berated himself for being impulsive. Would he really risk it all on a fleeting chance?

                Stiles snaked out of the room and crouched low behind a workbench before he had the chance to answer his own question. His knees shook with anticipation. In the seconds to pass his palms began to sweat and his tongue rested heavy in his dry mouth. He had maybe another twenty feet to clear before he could pass through the open doors. The only other cover between his current position and freedom was a stationary band saw; the bottom panel was narrow, perhaps too narrow to hide him completely when seen from an angle. Counting his breaths, Stiles creeped towards the saw. He couldn’t bear to turn his head and look at Derek. In that moment his purpose in life was to disappear in the shadows, as if the protection offered by the workstations was the only sanctuary he could ever hope to know.

                His hunched walking brought him out of sight once again but then his body worked against him. Stiles wanted to stop, to collect himself as he had done behind the workbench, but his legs moved forward on their own accord. He didn’t regain control of his limbs until his bare feet hit the cool grass in the safety of the shadow of the workshop.

                He collapsed on his knees, then struggled to his feet, dirt and grass clinging to his palms as he scrambled to be upright. The adrenaline still flowed freely in his veins and the clear expanse of road that cut through the forest beckoned him to run.

                And run he did.

                He made a beeline for the pale gravel of the driveway. From that fateful morning he knew that the winding path was more than a mile long but it was guaranteed to bring him to the road. It was safer, too, compared to the forest floor, with its fallen branches hidden under fallen leaves. If he kept pace his feet very well might hit pavement before Derek found him gone.

 

                He had only been running for a couple of minutes when the hot blood pumping through his veins began to simmer down. Bits of gravel had been driven into the soles of his feet. They ached and bled and thrummed as if fiery coals had burned through his skin. His thighs and his calves, weak from disuse, quaked with exertion. The air from his heaving breaths was sandpaper on the delicate skin of his throat. A stitch throbbed in his side, a constant flare that compounded the stress from his labored breathing.

                Unable to run, Stiles limped.

-x-

                The playpen is an engineering marvel compared to Derek’s previous work. He had underestimated the level of finesse required for each interlocking piece; luckily only a quarter of the pieces had to be so precise for the collapsing mechanisms to work as intended. It was worth it, though. The weight of the lattice balanced around the center, meaning that someone of Stiles’ stature wouldn’t be physically capable of toppling the playpen. When completed, Derek would have a stable, foldable playpen that was suitable for both indoor and outdoor use. Stiles would be safe and contained no matter where Derek left him. He regretted that the walls of the playpen had to rise up to his chest because it meant that he wouldn’t be able to lean over the side. It also meant that his little trouble-maker wouldn’t be at risk of toppling out of his playpen, so it was a sacrifice Derek was willing to make.

 

                Speak of the devil. Derek checked his watch: just about forty minutes had passed since he left Stiles in the back room. He cursed himself under his breath; he had intended to check up on him ten minutes ago. The boy still needed a bottle and a nap before this afternoon’s special play time. Derek expected him to be all but falling asleep but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let the boy play a little longer if he was still having fun.

                Derek pulled off his safety gear, then made his way to the back room. The door was ajar. Funny, because he was sure he had closed it. The industrial headset had limited Derek’s hearing to the deafened whir of electrical tools and his own blood rushing in his ears. He could hear it now, the blood, with a harrowing clarity-

                The room was empty.

                He didn’t move. He didn’t think. He couldn’t. A crushing weight pressed on his chest and his knees buckled under the pressure. The sweet scent of Stiles- _his boy_ \- lingered in the room, but the boy was gone. His toys were scattered around the rug and a childish creation laid prone on the workbench.

                The bones in his face creaked as they shifted at the command of a blind, furious panic. His bestial features flared and his snout vied to get a hold on the missing boy’s scent. There was no use in fighting his instincts; Derek succumbed to the shift and trusted his wolf to find Stiles.

 

                It wasn’t like the first hunt. The first hunt, the trail had been scattered with the wind, and Stiles had been but a stranger. This time, the trail was clear and tinged with the coppery scent of fresh blood. The wolf was wild, pulsing and flushing through his skin, clouding his eyes so that they could only see red.

                The man was a beast; the beast was a man.

                The boy didn’t stand a chance.

                His powerful stride closed the distance in a matter of minutes. From the moment the man laid eyes on him, there was only time enough for a handful of erratic heartbeats to drum in his ears before his full weight crashed into the boy and ground him into the gravel.

                He didn’t struggle. He was a shadow, the boy, bleeding and tired and reeking of salt and fear. He was talking, Derek could tell, hiccuping words between wretched sobs, but the wolf was still in control, and the wolf didn’t want to listen.

                None too gently, he picked the boy from the ground and tossed him over his shoulder for the short walk home.

-x-

 

                Derek could barely hold his humanity at the surface. When it slipped, he snarled, and when his broken mind lifted it back up, he raged. He didn’t bring the boy to the house. On autopilot, he returned to the shed, to the last place he can remember standing.

                He dropped Stiles on the hard floor. The air escaped his lungs in a silent grunt as he landed and curled in on himself. Derek leaned back against his workbench and looked on with burning eyes. The air was hot and still. The world was silent save for the distant midday chatter of lovely birds and the boy’s own shuddering breath.

                His speech was distorted, corrupted by the deadly fangs that still crowded his mouth.

                “You ran,” he breathed. “You motherfucking ran!” A clawed fist slammed on the table and splintered the worn wood. His hateful attention shifted briefly to the table, offended that it would dare to break underneath him, but it was redeemed when his eyes saw that, resting atop the shattered oak, was a solution to his larger problem. He grabbed it, and concealed it in his back pocket.

 

                The boy hadn’t moved. Derek creeped forward with the careful stalk of an unhinged predator. He walked around the boy and sat cross-legged beside him. He looked down at his dirty, clawed hands and willed their gnarled forms to return to soft humanity. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and hauled him close so that his head could rest in his lap. His face was calm, save for his eyes, which had screwed shut.

                Derek smoothed the boy’s wild, wind-blown hair and brushed his thumbs over his chapped lips. His fingers danced along his delicate jawline and caressed his fragile neck. He really was beautiful.

                “Stiles,” Derek whispered. “Stiles, open your eyes,”

                It was a man who towered over him, not a beast. His lips were pressed thin and twisted in a deep, wretched scowl, and hazel eyes gazed out from under his heavy, knitted brow.

                “You ran from me, Stiles.“ The hands cradling his head cruelly stiffened to tighten their grip.

                “Derek-“

                “YOU LEFT ME!” His roar was sharp and pained. It cut the air and left silence its wake. The hitching, stuttering breaths that moved to fill the void were the hissing vapors of a deep-seated rage that boiled over in the red of his eyes.

                “You can’t leave me, Stiles. You’re a part of me,” His voice cracked; calloused thumbs massaged slow circles on the boy’s red, tear-streaked cheeks. “My sweet boy...”

                “It hurts me, it hurts me here,” One hand rose to tap at his broad, heaving chest. “It hurts me here, when I think of losing you,” He leaned down and gave Stiles a chaste, unrequited kiss.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                His free hand curved around his back and slipped the tool from his pocket. Derek chewed his lip and took a long, careful look at the boy who lay at his mercy.

                When he spoke, his voice was haggard and rough, dragged down by the weight of his words.

                “You have to learn what it feels like, to lose a part of you,”

                The hand that had tenderly caressed his cheek now palmed at his neck to secure his jaw in an iron vice. The boy’s head was jerked back and his slender neck stretched across Derek’s folded calves. Thick fingers pressed at his face, scraping his cheeks across his teeth as his jaw was forced to open.

 

                Derek crammed the head of the pliers past the plush, furled lips. Stiles instinctively bit down on the sweet metal that flittered across his tongue as Derek worked for a proper angle. Stiles could see only two things, and in that moment they were the only two things in the world. He could see Derek, face relaxed, expressionless save for the slight turn of his lips that showed his concentration. He could see the pliers, the handle of the pliers, a masculine blue, and textured. Like watching a movie, he could see that the pliers were in Derek’s hand, and that Derek was the one shoving pliers in his mouth, and that this was the same pair of pliers that was scrapping at his gums-

               Stiles screamed an animal scream. He kicked his legs and rolled his body for leverage as he tried so hysterically to free himself from the solid grip. Blunt nails scrabbled for Derek’s arms, striking with enough desperation to draw blood.

                It was pitiful. Derek responded by pressing a little harder on the boy’s exposed neck and the protests died down. He had a lower back molar in the jaws of the pliers. When the struggles abated to little more than a spastic writhing, Derek pulled. He wiggled the tooth from side to side and Stiles’ unyielding sob climbed in pitch with each rock. At first he worked slowly, taking care to keep the roots intact, but the tears and sweat and mucus that veiled the boy’s face was making it difficult to keep his grip. With the tooth well-loosened from his gentle ministrations, Derek lowered the angle on the pliers and two diligent tugs freed the bone from the bleeding gums.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

                Derek eased the pliers from the boy’s mouth and tossed them aside, then lifted the head out of his lap and brought it gently to the floor. He loomed over the prone body, staring. Stiles wasn’t crying anymore. He had rolled himself onto his side and a guttural scream was flowing out of his mouth with bloody drool that pooled on the floor under his cheek. His breath manifested in this yell, the screaming unbroken until his lungs collapsed and were forced to take in another unsteady breath. He was grimy from the workshop floor and his feet were still blistered and harboring bits of gravel.

                It was... pitiful.

                Derek watched him with a morbid fascination. Stiles didn’t move much at all, and after a few minutes the scream lapsed into mangled sobs, then to high-pitched, incoherent mumblings. He rocked himself lightly and hugged his arms to his chest, seeking comfort.

                It was pitiful.

                A whine vibrated in his throat, startling Derek out of his sadistic trance. He could feel that his wolf was agitated. It nipped at the back of his mind, alerting him that a pup- _his pup_ \- was greatly distressed.

                His baby boy was dirty and hurt.

                ... He needed Daddy.

                Derek coasted an arm under the boy’s back and hooked the other in the hollow of his knees. He raised Stiles from the floor and cradled him close. Stiles’ head lolled against the broad chest; blood from his mouth stained Derek’s shirt but he didn’t mind. The veins in his arms ran black as he leached a deep ache from the fragile boy. Stiles gave a heavy sigh, then fell quiet. Half-lidded eyes gazed far into the distance, red and unfocused.

                Stiles was carried through the warmth of the cresting sun and startled at the cool, dry air that poured from the main house when Derek opened the front door.

 

                Derek brought him to the master bedroom and laid him on the rich down comforter. The bleeding hole in his head was the first priority. Derek washed his hands in the master bathroom then wadded gauze into squat, tight bundles.

                He eased the boy’s head back and guided some of the cloth to the back of his mouth. He pressed down and held it for a count of three minutes, then removed the bloodied bundle and replaced it with a fresh one.

                When his fingers were in the clear, he prompted to Stiles to bite, satisfied when the boy’s teeth clicked together.

                Derek returned to the bathroom to dispose of the bloody bandage and to soak a washcloth under the tap. He knelt at the bedside so that he could begin the process of picking the gravel out from the soles of Stiles’ feet. Most of it brushed away easily, leaving angry welts or scrapes, but bits of dirt and a few of the tiniest fragments of stone had embedded themselves under the skin. He decided to leave them for the moment, hoping that a warm soak in the tub will be enough to loosen them.

                He didn’t want to send Stiles into a fuss by undressing him. The onesie was a lost cause as it was, so after unsnapping the bottom, Derek pulled the fabric taught and ran a claw through the thin material from the neckline to the crotch, then again down each little sleeve. The pacifier clip was salvageable, at least. The diaper came off, too; it was damp, but with sweat, not urine.

                Derek stripped next, just to his boxer-briefs; his own clothes weren’t faring much better. He started up a hot bath, then waited with Stiles by the bed. The boy looked calm enough- his eyes were closed and his face was void of any distress. There was too much lingering on his skin for Derek to get a read through his scent. He figured the boy’s just tuckered out.

 

                Stiles was lowered into the warm, soapy bath, and Derek cleaned him with reverence. He spit out the gauze after a minute; Derek picked it from the air with his supernatural reflexes before it could hit the water.

                Derek loved to clean his pup. He got an immense satisfaction from providing the comfort that Stiles so desperately needed.

                The water dirtied quickly. Derek had to drain and refill the tub, but he didn’t skimp on bubbles. He washed him again, taking extra time to clean all of the dirt from the tiny scrapes on the soles of his feet.

                Derek poured shampoo into his palm and lathered the boy’s hair.

                “Stiles,” he beckoned. The boy looked at him with vacant eyes. Derek slouched over the side of the tub and brought their faces close together. He maintained eye contact when he spoke.

                “That was strike one. The next time you run, I’m going to take a finger. Then I’ll take a foot. I can’t say for sure what will happen after you've striked out, but I promise you won’t have a need for teeth or fingers or feet.”

                He paused to tilt the boy’s head back and rinse his hair. When the water ran clear, he continued.

                “Are we clear? Answer me, babe,”

                Stiles swallowed the copper saliva that pooled in his mouth. “Clear,” He whispered.

                Derek smiled his bright, genuine smile, then pressed a kiss to his sore cheek.

                “It’s water under the bridge.”

 

                Shucking away the soiled comforter, Derek snuggled Stiles onto the master bed. He applied an antibiotic cream to the boy’s feet and wrapped them thoroughly in bandages, as per the instructions he pulled up on his phone. He had never had to care for tiny injuries before so he wanted to be sure he was doing the right thing. He washed up and checked the hole in Stiles’ mouth. The gums were red and puffy, as to be expected, and the bleeding was minimal. He huffed.

                “Have some more gauze, baby, just for a few more minutes,” Derek pressed another bundle into his mouth and Stiles closed his jaw around it. He wasn’t thrilled with his compliance, but the pressure alleviated the pulsation in his sore gums.

                Derek fetched changing supplies and a footed sleeper from the nursery. He gently rolled Stiles from side to side to position the diaper under his hips, then sprinkled his delicate boy parts and bum with a generous amount of baby powder. Derek rubbed the silken powder into the soft, hairless skin and massaged around his hips and bum so that all of the skin under the diaper would be protected from moisture and rash. Before he taped up the diaper, he adjusted Stiles’ little pee-pee so it would rest properly beneath the padding.

                The sleeper came next, but not before Stiles spit the gauze out onto the bed. Derek examined it before throwing it out: It was hardly red, which was a good sign. The bleeding was minimal and should stop completely in a couple of hours. He stretched the fabric around the listless limbs then propped Stiles upright so he could zipper up the back.

 

                Derek insisted that he drink some water before naptime. He reclined in his arm chair with Stiles cradled in his lap. One hand supported his head, and the other held a sippy cup with an open spout.

                “You can’t have binkies or ba-bas for a couple of days. If you suckie too hard, the bleeding might start up again,” Stiles grasped at the cup but Derek held fast. “Let Daddy hold it,”

                Stiles obliged him but kept his hands on the cup anyway. Silent tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he drank. Derek brushed them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek shows Stiles his workshop and the special play set he bought so that he could work like his Daddy. Stiles sees an opportunity to run, so he does. Derek catches him. Derek is furious. He's a man of his word, so Stiles receives a special punishment for running away. Derek pulls one of his teeth, and when his rage simmers down his instincts drive him to clean Stiles up.
> 
> Chapter WC: 5346


	10. Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek writhes in the holy dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much-awaited 'final' chapter. This is the build-up to the very end. There are 3 separate endings: good, neutral, and bad. Those will be added shortly (for reals this time), once you've suffered for a moment longer >:)
> 
> Also, this chapter is written a bit funny- I've managed to keep tense inside of each individual chapter, but tense has shifted across chapters. I don't know why, but it felt right to describe an indiscernible amount of time in the present tense.
> 
> ALSO Also, I still need to give this a final proofread, so if you're reading within 24 hours of posting, you're reading the unedited version and there might be spelling/grammar mistakes, missing words, etc.
> 
> See the end-notes for a summary of events.
> 
> \---
> 
> Just about a year ago, a boring night in a swanky hotel compelled me to type out a chapter. I know that some of you have been following this from the start- you're saints, the lot of you, for the patience that you've shown between updates. Writing doesn't come as easy to me as I thought it would. I have more stories I want to write, and in the future, for anything longer than 5000 words, I think I'll just write it all before I post, so it doesn't, you know, stretch out over an entire calendar year.

                Stiles can’t win because there is no game.

                Derek is not a Zodiac, or a Jigsaw.

                He isn’t cryptic. There is no grander scheme.

                _No_ , thought Stiles.

                No, Derek is a werewolf.

                _He’s a werewolf, and he wants to beat the shit out of me._

_... And then he wants to clean it up._

               

                That’s all there is to it.

                The nursery was blanketed in a warm darkness. Stiles laid in his crib, unrestrained and turned on his side, the plush rabbit tucked under his chin. He tongued lazily at the hole in his gums. Stretching his tongue made his jaw ache but the metallic taste kept him grounded. He felt... unreal, disconnected- not in a psychotic sort of way, just... well, having stumbled through a quantum portal felt like a very real, very valid explanation for all of... this. And while one train of thought was occupied with quantum portals, another was digging up every ounce of information on werewolves, and another was considering the formation and treatment of abscesses in the mouth, and yet another was screaming, berating him for running, accented by the constant pinpricks stabbing through the shredded soles of his feet--

                His thoughts were racing away from each other. Stiles gave chase but clarity evaded him, always one step ahead. Stiles was a pond, and his thoughts were the dragonflies darting and skimming over his placid waters, sending ripples of disruption across the surface of his being.

 

                But the hole in his mouth, that was real.

                So Stiles huddled closer with the rabbit, and he chased the dragonflies.

 

                Derek had put him down for a nap after the bottle, promising to check up on him every now and again. The door creaked open every hour or so, Stiles reckoned, and Derek would peek around the frame and rest his gaze on the crib before sliding back into the hall.

                The sixth time, Derek stepped into the nursery. He was freshly showered and his damp hair beaded into droplets that ran down his neck and soaked the collar of his henley. He held a burping cloth in one hand and a sippy cup in the other. These, he set near the rocking chair.

 

                Stiles wasn’t alone in his miserable, fleeting sobriety. Derek had resigned himself to his work. He slaved in his workshop, checking on Stiles whenever the radio chimed for a weather report. Derek didn’t regret his actions- he regret that he hurt Stiles, sure, but the boy had made a break for it- he hurt himself, he put himself in danger, he forced Derek to chase him down, he knew that his actions would have consequences-

                Derek couldn’t afford to back down. Stiles had felt confident enough to run, and that meant that Derek wasn’t doing his job. Stiles needed security, he needed structure, but most of all, he needed his Daddy.

                Derek unlatched the crib cover and lowered the side railing. He ate his words. _Water under the bridge_.

 

                He lifted Stiles by the armpits and heaved him onto his hip. Guilt flushed his cheeks; Stiles was wet -and dirty- and Derek hadn’t noticed. He sat the boy on the changing table and set about freeing him from the sleeper; Stiles whined when Derek had to take away the bunny to free his arms, but all was forgiven when Stiles could feel the soft fur against his bare chest.

                Stiles’ inner thighs were speckled with red. Anger flared, but Derek was quick to swallow it down. He couldn’t be mad at Stiles for relying on his Daddy. It was a Daddy’s job to take care of his boy. Stiles should have called out for him, but he should have been more attentive. Soft mumbles filled the nursery as he worked to clear away the mess.

                “Good boy, Stiles, using your nappy... you even made a little stinky, yes you did... what a good boy for Daddy... all clean!” He rubbed a cooling rash cream into the boy’s privates, then taped him up and kissed his tummy. “Don’t ever be afraid to call for Daddy when you need him, little one. Daddy will always help his baby, no matter what,” Another kiss, and then Derek cleaned his hands with a baby wipe and brought Stiles to the rocking chair.

                Derek propped him upright in his lap; Stiles nestled his head under Derek’s scruffy chin, using the broad shoulders to support his head. Formula, burping, a goodnight kiss: this part was routine, and Stiles relaxed at the familiarity.

 

                He welcomed sleep.

                Thoughts couldn’t ravage him in his sleep.

                Only nightmares could do that.

 

\------------------------------

 

                New days are distinguished by the start of routine but no day is distinguished enough to stand out from the rest. Clocks have surrendered all authority: for Stiles, at least, the day is divided by sleep time, play time, and meal time.

                Derek wakes, exercises, and showers before he rouses his baby to get him ready for the day. Derek coos at him for a couple of minutes, starting at a whisper and slowly increasing the volume of his voice so as not to startle the boy. Stiles can be grumpy when he wakes up, as Derek is quick to learn. After two early starts are marred by hissy fits, Derek keeps his talking to a minimum, breaking the silence only to issue commands and praise. Stiles is much more agreeable after he’s had his breakfast.

                Stiles has taken to having his morning wee while Derek holds him on his hip; the sitting position makes it easier, and Derek allows it because he loves that he can feel the diaper grow swollen and warm against his body.

                Breakfast is still a bit of a fight. Stiles hates his highchair. He hates his harness, which Derek dutifully buckles around him every morning. He hates that he can’t slouch or turn or lean. He hates that Derek purposely smatters his cheeks with the mush when he chases his pouty lips with the soft-tipped spoon, then coos at him while he dabs it off with the terrycloth bib.

                Not to mention, the meal options were running slim. Derek hadn’t gone shopping in quite a bit and he was torn between staying home with Stiles and feeding him fresh veggies. For now, he had enough stockpiled in the freezer, but Derek hoped that more variety would make mealtimes less agonizing for the both of them.

 

                Stiles would never admit it, not to Derek, but playtime is his favorite part of the day. There’s variety, at least. After gulping down a bottle of water, Derek will set him in the living room or his nursery to play. He shows a clear preference for creative toys. He colors, mostly, and invents a few chords to strum on the small plastic guitar. Stiles likes the living room best because Derek will turn on the TV. He drowns out the stupid baby shows but he’s grateful for the background noise. One time, though, Derek puts on the Magic School Bus, and Stiles doesn’t even try to hide his interest: it was one of his favorite shows growing up, and in his excitement he blurts as much to Derek. He falters quickly, cursing his motor-mouth, and misses Derek’s question.

                “Do you like learning shows?” He repeats.

                Stiles blushes and fumbles his answer out from behind his paci, “Science shows,”

                “Science shows!” Derek crouches beside him and ruffles his hair. “Is my little boy going to be a scientist when he’s all grown up?”

                Stiles gives him a tiny nod, and Derek counts this as a win.

                Stiles does, too. After that day, playtime still opens with an episode of Sesame Street, but Derek adds the Magic School Bus, Bill Nye, and even a couple of Nat Geo documentaries to the streaming list.

 

                Stiles also likes the living room best because for the most part, Derek leaves him to his own devices. After the playpen is completed, Derek will sometimes leave him unsupervised while he goes off to do... whatever it is that he does around the house. He spends a lot of time in his study.

                When he’s in the nursery, though, that’s when Derek likes to interact with him. He lays next to Stiles on the rug, colors when he colors, builds when the blocks are out. Sometimes he bundles him up in a blanket and cuddles him on the rocking chair for a story.

                When Derek settles him down for story time, Stiles wiggles his arms out of the blanket and reaches for the book. Derek beams at the gesture and revels in the feeling of Stiles’ soft, slender fingers against his own rough hands.

                “You wanna hold the book, babe?” He hums.

                Stiles has to crane his neck to see Derek, and even then, the angle isn’t quite right. He musters up an insistent, childish voice to make his demand.

                “Outside chair,”

                “Outside chair?” _Good lord_ , is Stiles getting tired of having everything parroted back to him. Derek leans back so that his boy can see his exaggerated perplexion. “Oh, you mean the porch swing?”

                Stiles nods. “Outside, Daddy,” he stresses his words with an excited- _agitated_ \- kick of his legs.

                Derek laughs. “Easy tiger! You wanna read outside on the porch swing?”

                Stiles nods in agreement and Derek thumps him lightly on the back. He chews on his lip and looks down at his baby boy.

                “It is a nice day, isn’t it, honey? Here,” He gives Stiles the picture book to hold, and then, as he stands, he hefts Stiles onto his hip and frees his legs from the blanket. He carries him downstairs but pauses at the front door.

                “Daddy,” Stiles prompts.

                “Hush, honey-bun, just for a second,” Derek strains his ears for the sound of gravel crunching under tires. Hearing nothing, he steps out onto the porch and sits on the swing with Stiles straddling his lap. He nudges them back and forth on the swing, and Stiles leans back against his chest to relax with the wind in his face. Derek kisses his hair.

                It is a nice day.

 

                Stiles will wet his diaper again around lunchtime, usually right afterwards so that he can have a change before his nap. Derek eats his own lunch and tidies up the house while he rests. Stiles never really sleeps during his nap. Derek doesn’t push the matter: the quiet time does them both good, and from the sour shift in his scent, Derek knows that he’s anxious about the special time that follows.

 

                He strips the boy in his crib, then he strips himself. He carries Stiles naked through the house and down the stairs.

 

                Like regular playtime, Derek introduces more toys and activities for special playtime. The basement has been subject to some very minor renovations: the couch and rug are gone, replaced by a queen-sized bed- Stiles can’t recall when, exactly, Derek maneuvered an entire bed into the basement, but since he hadn’t gone shopping, he figured it was repurposed from the unused guestroom. It was much more comfortable than the couch.

 

                To start, Derek binds him with soft ropes. Stiles melts into the cool sheets and allows Derek to move him this way and that as he works the ropes across his body. Fighting gets him nowhere, he knows, so why waste his energy? Sometimes Derek ties a simple harness around his torso, and sometimes he trusses him up in some kind of fuck-off hogtie. He favors a wrist-to-thigh tether- Derek favors anything, really, so long as his bottom is left open for spanking.

                The penis gag is an awful affair: it’s a bit wide, not painfully so, but it’s just under 3 inches long, enough to stuff his mouth and tease the back of his throat. It makes swallowing feel like a choking hazard, so Stiles is forced to let his spit dribble down his chin.

                Derek can’t just shove it in his mouth and be done with it, either.

                No, he has to coax it in each and every day.

                “C’mon, honey, open up those pretty lips.” Derek ghosts the gag over the head of his cock, rolling it in precum. He glides the false head across Stiles’ lips, painting them with his juices before he tries to work the gag past his clenched teeth.

                “Don’t you want your suckie? Be good, baby, open up for Daddy,” Stiles surrenders when Derek tells him to behave; he’s learned that Derek starts with that sort of talk when he’s losing his patience, and Stiles doesn’t push his luck. The precum tastes gross. At least it dribbles out with the rest.

 

                Derek used his hand, once, to spank him, but he never went back after he got a feel for the leather paddle.

                He sits on the edge of the bed and pins Stiles’ bound form over his knees, starting slowly, spanking lightly and quickly until the boy’s plump cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. From there he slows his pace but ups the severity of the blows. Stiles starts to writhe around the tenth hit. He’s crying by the twentieth, red-faced and bucking by the thirtieth. Derek doesn’t stop until Stiles goes limp across his knees, resigned to his fate, and even then he throws in a few more spanks, just to elicit a couple more wet, miserable groans from behind the gag.

                He massages the burning flesh when it’s over. Stiles whines and wriggles against the touch. His calloused hands knead methodically, rubbing small, deep circles into the muscle. 

                When he tires of the backside, Derek flips him onto the bed and starts on his front. He saddles up beside him and wets his fingers in the rivulets of saliva that pool on Stiles’ chin. Derek situates himself between his boy’s bound legs and looms over him, supporting himself on his forearm. He likes to watch Stiles’ face when his fingers start to ply at his entrance.

                He starts with one finger, always, and works his hand in small circles, tugging gently at the rim with each thrust. Stiles lets out a delightfully self-conscious moan when a second finger slips in beside the first. Derek curls his fingers just a bit and presses lightly against the lining of Stiles’ silken passage, teasing at the tiny pleasure bump, pushing up towards his tummy. He rocks harder, faster, and Stiles moves with him, a slave to his passions. His body betrays him: limp from the spanking, his cock swells as his anus contracts around the thick digits, ignorant of anything beyond immediate pleasure.

                It builds, and Stiles never lasts long.

                He comes on Derek’s fingers, staining his belly and the sheets.

                “Good boy, Stiles, good boy,” Derek, knuckle deep in his baby, peppers his tear-streaked cheeks with tiny kisses as he comes down from his orgasm. “Good boy, making cummies on Daddy’s fingers,”

                Another sloppy kiss.

                “Good little boy.”

 

                Derek jacks himself lazily while Stiles calms down. When his breathing evens out, Derek straddles his boy and humps against his thighs, shooting his load into the sticky mess on his tummy, or, if he’s feeling extra frisky, he’ll hump his boy’s face, dragging his cock feverishly through the tears and snot and spit until he comes in the cropped hair. Stiles cries silently when he does that.

 

                Aftercare isn’t unheard of. Derek unties him and massages his tired limbs, encouraging the blood flow to return to normal and relieving the sting from the impressions that the rope squeezed into his skin.

                They shower together, quick, efficient, and cold, and special time is (mostly) over once Stiles is securely strapped down to the changing table. Exhausted and pliant, the bindings serve to keep him still and open while Derek lubes up a butt plug from his training set and works it into his bum. His hole is always so eager to swallow up the plug once Derek pushes it past the widest point. His stinging bottom gets a liberal slathering of soothing cream before Derek powders his shaved privates and tapes up his diaper.

 

                Stiles is all tuckered out from his special time with Daddy. At first, Derek would set him down to play, but Stiles would just lay down and close his eyes, so now Derek leaves him in his crib to rest while he prepares dinner.

                Sometimes Derek will cuddle with him on the couch for a movie before bed, but only when the timing allows for it. Derek likes to have Stiles in bed by 8:00, and besides dinner, he has to fit a bath and a bedtime story into the schedule.

                The plug comes out when Derek strips him for his bath. It doesn’t go back in until the next day. One time, Derek tried leaving the smallest plug in overnight, but Stiles got so distressed that Derek had to take it out halfway through the night. Stiles got to sleep in the morning after that fiasco.

 

                So it goes, for a week, and then some.

                Only one day would come to stand out from the others:

 

\------------------------------

 

                Derek roused him with his usual pep, but Stiles could tell that something was off. He took his morning piss while his captor held him firm against his body. A flip had switched somewhere down the line, and Stiles couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed about pissing in front of Derek. He was faintly reminded of the time he, Scott, and Scott’s dad went backpacking in the northern part of the state. That was a weird time: Scott’s dad was still actively trying to foster a relationship with Scott, but both of them knew it just wasn’t going to happen. The fact that Scott would invite Stiles along for a father-son trip sort of solidified that. It was weird and foreign at first, taking a leak in the woods, and the first time, Stiles had to fidget to get a stream flowing- but once the novelty wore off, things were fine, and once he returned to society, it was urinals that came off as freaky. It almost felt like a crime to piss into something as pristine as porcelain after pissing into dirt for five days straight.

                The timing was perfect: Stiles woke from the memory to a fresh diaper taped around his hips and Derek freeing him from the last of his bonds.

                He got his breakfast- tasteless mush and formula, nothing new. Derek seemed distant. He steered the airplane towards his mouth, noises and all, but Stiles knew that he just wasn’t feeling it. Hope swelled up in his chest _\- maybe Derek is getting tired of this infantile charade?_

                He was quick to push that thought back down.

 

                Derek dropped him in the living room and enclosed him in the impossibly tall playpen. He stretched himself out on the couch with his laptop seated across his thighs. Stiles faced the television but his ears were tuned to Derek. Lately he’d been holed up in the study, and Stiles’ inquisitive nature burned to know what he was up to.

                Stiles didn’t hide his rapt attention when Derek stood up and punched a number into his cellphone. He fled to the privacy of his study, leaving Stiles to wonder.

                He did this a couple of times: typing, pausing, dialing, hiding. Returning, looking much the same as he did before.

 

                Stiles got answers to his unasked questions after lunch. He was still strapped in his chair when Derek leaned on the tray and dropped his shoulders so that they could see eye-to-eye.

                “Daddy’s sorry, honey, but we’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel here. Daddy has to go to town and buy more food, and baby boys have to stay in their cribs while Daddy’s away.”

                Stiles nodded, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t have to live on canned and frozen food anymore. Seeing his understanding, Derek returned to the counter and mixed up his naptime bottle.

                He paused, and turned back to Stiles.

                “Here, babe, if you want, Daddy will add a half dose of the relaxing medicine to your bottle. Just so you can rest easy?”

                He’d rather sleep through the downtime than be left alone with his thoughts. Stiles agreed, and Derek crushed up a pill, siphoning half of the powder into his bottle and dusting the rest into the sink.

                Derek brought him to his nursery and changed his sodden diaper. Like usual, they settled into the rocking chair for his bottle-feeding. The boy suckled hungrily and humored Derek through yet another burping.

                Stiles was locked into his crib with the four-point restraints. From experience, Stiles knew that it would take about twenty minutes to feel his limbs grow heavy. Derek knelt beside the crib and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.

 

\------------------------------

 

                The drive to Beacon Hills was scored by a classic rock station that frequently patched in-and-out of tune. Derek had a shopping list crumpled in his pocket but the grocery store wasn’t fixed to be his fist stop.

                The visitor parking for Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital was relegated to a side lot a short walk from the main entrance. The spots right out front were reserved for vital staff, and, of course, the poor bastards who had to drive themselves to the hospital.

                Derek wasn’t visiting a patient. He was here to catch Dr. Jacobson at the end of his shift, the same Jacobson who had opened his home to Derek all those years ago. Finding out where he’d be and when he’d be there wasn’t all that hard: Beacon Hills is a small town, and Derek just had to phone a couple of different departments until he was connected to a sympathetic nurse who knew his history with the man.

                Dr. Jacobson is the attending orthopedic surgeon at Beacon Hills Memorial. Physicians can expect to work shifts that range from 12 to 30 hours; medical mistakes most frequently occur right after a shift change, so hospitals do their best to keep patients with their doctors for as long as possible.

                Although his shift had formally ended 20 minutes ago, Dr. Jacobson had retired to his office to ensure that the day’s paperwork was in order. It took no more than hour, and taking a little time to clarify and verify saved him hours of headaches down the road.

                Derek signed in and received his visitor’s pass from the nurse that had spoken to him on the phone. She buzzed Dr. Jacobson to tell him that Derek was there, so when Derek shuffled into the office, he was greeted with a fatherly embrace and a hearty pat on the back. Derek returned his affections, and his wolf preened at the familiar scent.

 

                The older man’s face was tired and gray from his grueling hours, but the haggard crow’s feet around his eyes were crinkled up in genuine delight.

                “Derek, my boy, it’s so good to see you- it’s been far too long!”

                “I know, pops, I know- I don’t get to town very often these days.“

                “Excuses, excuses... Mary-Anne”, his wife, “brought you up just the other day, and I had no news to tell her,” The skilled, fragile hands that clasped the younger man’s shoulders guided him to sit. Dr. Jacobson wheeled his own chair around his desk to be across from his pseudo-son without barriers between them.

                “Well, I quit the job at the shop almost... two months ago now,” Dr. Jacobson raised his eyebrows at that. Derek rubbed at the back of his neck under the sudden scrutiny. “Couple reasons, but mostly I wanted more energy and more daylight for my woodwork. I was having trouble keeping a balance between the two,” The excuse was lame, yeah, but Dr. Jacobson relaxed because although he wasn’t working, Derek was still doing something productive with his time.

                He told him as much, then studied the grizzled face of a man who learned the pain of loss before he was a man. He lowered his voice.

                “You’re not here on a social call, are you, Derek?”

                Derek smirked and wiped his hands down his face. He let out a steady breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. When he hesitated, the doctor spoke up:

                “The night terrors are back, aren’t they.” It was a statement, not a question.

                _Could Derek really lie to this man?_

_Of course he could. Right through his sharp, beastly teeth._

                “Yeah,” the word escaped on a choked whisper. Derek didn’t need to elaborate. It was true that he had had night terrors for years after the fire. At the Jacobson’s, he would have to keep his door locked at night because he would shift in his sleep and wake up screaming. Dr. Jacobson had been nothing but sympathetic. He himself was haunted by his lost children, even to this day.

                “I... I made an appointment with Linda a few weeks ago, but she couldn’t work me in until the 25th of next month.”

                _Lies_. Linda had been his therapist after the fire; Dr. Jacobson arranged the sessions and urged Derek to go. They hadn’t been entirely helpful: it’s not like Derek could openly talk about his real fear, his fear of being hunted down and slaughtered.

                “I see,” the doctor replied. He leaned back in his chair. “No use beating around the bush; what do you need from me, Derek?”

                “Just your professional recommendation- a sleeping aid, something to carry me through the night. I feel like I’ve tried everything under the sun.”

 

                Dr. Jacobson sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He looked at Derek for a long moment, then stood and walked around his desk.

                “I shouldn’t do this,” he started, “but _I_ wouldn’t be able to sleep if I sent you on your way without help. And _that_ wouldn’t do anyone any good,” he rifled around in a drawer for a pad of paper, then started scribbling.

                He tore off the top sheet and slid it across the desk to Derek.

                “This is what I was on after the accident. It’s a mild sedative, so sleep should come easy.”

                Derek held the prescription delicately, as if it would crumble to dust if he gripped it too hard. It was more than he could have hoped for.

                “Thank you, sir.” Derek offered a shy smile and stood up. He met the man halfway around the desk for another embrace.

                “Don’t thank me yet. Downside is, that stuff is administered through injection,” Derek frowned, a dissatisfied scowl that anyone would make at ugly, inconvenient news. The doctor laughed. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it,”

                “Pffth, I’ll use it sparingly, that’s for sure.”

                “That’s the plan. Why don’t you go ahead and drop that off right away;” He gestured to the paperwork piled up on his desk. “I’ll be here for a little while longer, so if the pharmacy calls, I can clear it for you myself,”

                Derek thumped at his chest. “Kicking me out already, pops? That’s rough,”

                “Oh, you’re not off the hook that easy. Mary-Anne’s got a sixth sense when it comes to you. She’ll know you’ve been around, and she’ll have my head if I don’t invite you over for dinner. How does Sunday sound?”

                Derek brightened, then counted the days, tapping his fingers through the week. “Yeah, Sunday is perfect.”

 

                He turned in his visitor’s pass and left the hospital with pep in his step. Derek dropped off the prescription at a drugstore pharmacy, then drove to the supermarket in a nearby plaza to do his shopping.

                Derek returned home around 8:30 with a filled prescription and nearly two weeks’ worth of groceries. He’d stock up on produce again come Sunday, since he’d be in town.

                Stiles was still asleep. The drugs should have nearly left his system; it was a residual slumber, he reckoned. His diaper was a little wet, so Derek cautiously freed his joints from the cuffs and maneuvered him to the table for a quick change.

                He woke Derek up around one, fussy and unable to sleep because he had already slept so much. Derek was groggy when he dragged himself out of bed. Stiles found the heart to laugh at him.

                “Daddy’s grumpy,” he said, matter-of-factly.

                “Yes, very grumpy. Daddies need to rest, too.” His voice was rumbly and scratchy with sleep.

 

                They sat up together for nearly three hours.

                Stiles fell back asleep on his own, but Derek wasn’t so lucky.

                The full moon was tomorrow, and the pull made Derek restless.

                He huddled on the porch swing until the sun peeked out from over the treetops.

                By then, it was time to wake Stiles.

 

\------------------------------

 

                Stiles had a king’s breakfast of fresh mango, scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Derek had fed him all of these foods before, but the main course had always been some sort of fruit or veggie puree. Stiles figured it was his way of apologizing for sustaining him on frozen and canned goods for the past few days. The apology was well-received.

                He knew something _for sure_ was up when Derek set him up in the living room with a DVD instead of the usual cartoon stream. It was _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ , and yeah, okay- it’s a show for kids, but Avatar is _not_ a kid’s show.

                Stiles didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

                He ignored his toys and watched almost half of the first season before Derek could pull him away for lunch. He had the audacity to try stopping the show in the middle of an episode, but threatened with a hissy fit, Derek huffed and cuddled Stiles in his armchair while the episode ran through to the end.

                To Stiles’ disappointment, the limited menu was back for lunch: Derek spooned him mashed vegetables and followed up with a bottle of warm formula.

                Derek carried him upstairs for a quick diaper change but kept him dressed in his playtime onesie. At this point, Stiles was just confused: although the man himself was chaotic, his schedule was not, and the past two days had not fit the pattern at all.

                “Daddy?” Stiles hoped to convey everything in that one word.

                Derek kissed him but otherwise ignored him; he was settled back in the playpen while Derek cleaned.

                “Daddy!” Stiles yelled. He shouted over the clanking dishes, and again over the tumbling washer. Derek appeared and leaned over the side of the crib expectantly.

                “What is it, baby?” He looked worn out- Stiles noted the bags under his eyes and the gaunt lines etched into his face. He seemed older.

                “... It’s naptime, Daddy,” Stiles chewed on his lip, suddenly aware that he was not only telling his captor what to do, but that he was _asking_ to be laid down for an afternoon nap.

                Derek heeded the shift in his scent, from confidence to rancid insecurity. He smiled and sweetened his tone, hoping to put the boy at ease.

                “Aww. You’re just confused, huh? There’s no naptime or special time today, so you get an extra-long playtime.”

                “Why?”

                “Well, you’ve got to go to sleep again tonight,”

                Stiles pouted. “I sleep _every_ night, Daddy,”

                “You most certainly do!” Derek had such a silly little boy. “Let Daddy try again. You have to go to sleep right around the time we usually eat dinner, so today, we’re skipping naptime and special time so that you can still have your regular bedtime routine.”

                “... Why?”

                Derek sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

                “How about we move to the nursery for a bit? There are still a couple of toys you haven’t had the chance to play with yet.”

 

                Derek lowered Stiles onto the rug in the nursery, then rooted through the closet for what appeared to be a clear plastic tube and a large bin. The tube unfurled into a play mat, and the bin was filled with tubs of play-doh and shaping tools.

                Derek played with him, and they shaped little animals to for the make-believe farmhouse. Stiles got upset when Derek attached a black mane to his brown horse- mixing colors like that ruins them both. Derek blushed and promised to buy more of each color.

                “Stiles, I’ll be more careful, but don’t you worry about mixing them up, cause I’ll buy you lots more, if you want,” Derek smiled, but Stiles didn’t notice. His eyes were locked on the kitty-cat he was making. It still needed a tail. He mashed it back into the purple tub.

                “Could I maybe have air-dry stuff, Daddy? Or regular clay?”

                Derek didn’t respond, and when Stiles raised his head, he saw that Derek had his brows cocked, as if to say the boy was pushing his luck.

                Stiles was quick to tack an addendum to his last statement: “So I can, y’know, make stuff for keeps.”

                That was the right thing to say. Derek leaned over and placed a kiss on his head.

                “That sounds nice, babe. I’ll add it to the list.”

 

                Stiles wasn’t sure what came over him. He felt bitter after that conversation, and he _did not_ want to be in the nursery anymore.

                “Done with this, Daddy,” He started to stuff the little animals back into the tubs.

                Derek could smell that he was antsy, not bored, and he had a feeling he knew what he was dealing with. He helped Stiles tidy up, then cleaned the boy’s hands and his own with baby wipes.

                “That’s okay, honey. How about more Avatar?” Stiles shrugged, so Derek carted him back to the playpen and started up the next episode in the series.

 

                The passiveness confirmed Derek’s suspicions that he had a cranky little boy on his hands. He was yawning and slouching when Derek retrieved him for dinner. He didn’t even complain when Derek cut the episode short. Poor baby, all tired ‘cause he missed his nap.

                Derek wouldn’t say that out loud, not right now. He kissed him lightly on the cheek instead, maybe to reassure them both.

 

                Derek had a roast in the oven for his own dinner but it wouldn’t be ready for another hour. For Stiles, he mixed up a small bowl of vegetables and rice. It was only 5:00, and Stiles had had a relaxing afternoon, so he shouldn’t be too, too hungry for dinner. Stiles managed about three-quarters of the bowl before he outright refused to eat another bite. He made himself clear by spitting the last spoonful out onto the tray.

                “Alright, babe, I get it, you’re done. No need to make a mess.”

                Okay, so they were both a little antsy.

 

                Stiles used his diaper while Derek was occupied with preparing the bath. He was clean, diapered, and snuggled into a sleeper by 6:00.

 

                Derek restrained him in his crib and covered him with a light blanket, but he didn’t raise the drop-side. Stiles had closed his eyes when he felt the plush mattress underneath him, but now they were open, confused at the lack of a goodnight kiss before the railing went up for the night.

                The man had left the room, but only for a minute. Stiles watched him closely as he sauntered up to the side of the crib. He knelt at the bedside and rolled the sleeve of the boy’s sleeper up his arm until it was bunched around his shoulder.

                From his pocket, Derek withdrew a tiny white package and easily tore it open. The smell of rubbing alcohol assaulted the air, and Stiles watched intently as he swabbed the cool cloth against his exposed bicep.

 

                Fear made the blood drain from his face, but a blooming panic sent it surging back in a hot blush that spread from his cheeks to his chest.

                He swallowed against his heavy tongue. “Daddy?”

                Derek knew he was afraid. He had to act fast because Stiles was always one to assume the worst. Derek offered reassurance as he pulled a tiny syringe from his pocket and flipped the safety cap.

                “You need to take some sleepy medicine. All this does is help you sleep.”

                “W-why can’t I have the pills? Daddy?” He started to cry and thrash against the restraints, so Derek leaned over the side of the bed to hold the boy’s torso down with his weight.

                “On the count of three, babe,” Derek tapped at the syringe to free any air bubbles.

                “One,”

                “Wait Dadddy wait!”

                “Two,”

                “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-WAAAIIIT!!!”

                “Three,”

                Derek jabbed the needle in quickly, pressed the plunger, then pulled it free. It was over and done in all of two seconds. Stiles was hyperventilating underneath him, cries of ‘wait’ and ‘Daddy’ still escaping between his labored breaths.

                He rolled off the boy, then pressed a tissue against the tiny drop of blood that beaded on Stiles’ skin. Derek rubbed light circles over his tummy and whispered soothing nonsense.

                “It’s over baby, all done. All done, honey, no more. Just sleepy medicine, help you have a nice, deep sleep tonight, okay? You’ll be all nice and rested in the morning.”

                “Please, Daddy, no,”

                “It’s all done, Stiles. Time to sleep.”

                His pleading faded into wordless hiccups, and after five minutes, Stiles was quiet.

                He was out like a light after ten.

 

                Derek headed downstairs with a heavy heart. He had to do it. If Stiles needed him during the night, he wouldn’t be able to help. He had to do what was best for Stiles, even if Stiles didn’t like it.

                The roast was damn near perfect, one of Derek’s best recipes- Stiles would love it. Derek would let him try some tomorrow, when it didn’t taste like sand.

                He grabbed a worn paperback from one of the shelves in the living room. Derek curled up on his porch swing, the natural motions of his living body swaying him gently in the chair.

                He read his book until the last of the orange light faded to gray. The burning under his skin intensified with each passing minute, an itchy, insatiable dryness that swarmed his entire body. When he could bear it no longer, he retreated inside, stripped, and descended into the basement.

                The shackles were iron, infused with wolfsbane, scavenged from the charred shell of his family home. They closed silently, and for all of their weight, the sound of closing locks was heavier.

 

                He surrendered himself to the moon.

 

                Once, long ago, the full moon was a holy procession of love and laughter. The light in the night sky and the light inside of Derek shone brightest on this day. With his shifted, blessed eyes, Derek could see the lights of others, too, the stars that danced around the sacred moon.

 

                It felt neither good nor freeing nor holy to surrender to the divine light. It didn’t feel like anything at all. Derek was shackled in the shadow of his beast, hidden away from the moonlight that once riled him to catharsis.

                His compliance earned him a meager reward: as his body assumed the form of the twisted animal soul that shared his vessel, the shackles that bound him to the wall burned his twisted flesh, bringing Derek a penance that he readily offered up to his family.

 

 

\------------------------------

 

                Derek roused when the moon passed its apex. He was at an unfathomable high. No drug could hold a candle to his delirium. His roots to earth were iron, and they looped around his bruised, bloody wrists. His ankles fared no better.

                An alpha, hurt and unhealed by his own hand. The wolf had fought valiantly against the chains and now Derek suffered for it.

                He wasn’t privy to his own limbs, not yet- Derek could see them, but he couldn’t feel them, truly a blessing and a curse. They were tied to the beast, but the vice on his body would fade with the moon.

                With nothing but time on his hands, Derek turned to the only thing that gave his life purpose: Stiles.

 

                The ground was snatched from underneath him. In one moment Derek felt hollow, dead to the world, and in the next, his heartrate was inhumanly fast, his breathing inhumanly haggard- his mind, inhuman, not his own-

 

                Derek was a pond.

                His thoughts were dragonflies.

                They darted and skimmed over the surface of his being.

                Derek chased them, but clarity evaded him.

 

                Then there was fire, all-consuming.

                The fire was under his skin.

                Under his skin-

 

                A heavy breath escaped his lips, pushed out by collapsing lungs. He fought for his next breath, and the breath after that.

                _Stiles_.

                From before, the heartrate, the breathing, inhuman- it wasn’t Derek’s.

                It was Stiles’.

 

                He could hear it now, a sad whimpering, desperate and afraid. _Stiles_ , he was afraid.

                And Derek would go to him if it was the last thing he ever did.

 

                The wolf was in him, pulling the shifted vessel tight against the bonds. It raged. It jerked the chained limbs again and again. The wolf screamed, and Derek howled.

 

                Derek fought back.

                His hand was shattered, a bloody mess of cracked, protruding bone and mutilated skin. He smashed it against the concrete wall, again, and again, and again, and again-

                The shackle tumbled from his shattered wrist.

                Free from the wolfsbane, the skin and bone melded back together.

 

                One down.

                Three more to go.

 

                Derek gritted his teeth and collided his shackled wrist against the wall.

                Again.

                And again.

                And-

 

                His arm fell limp at his side. Derek screamed. He had to get free, he had to get to _Stiles_ -

                The wolf agreed. It was still there, breathing in his shifted skin.

                For the first time since the fire, the wolf surrendered control to Derek.

                Willingly.

 

                He cradled his hands in his lap. His free, human fingers fumbled with the clasp on the other shackle.

                Then he freed his ankles.

                Then he freed his neck.

 

                In his beta-shift and on weary feet, Derek scrambled up the stairs, half of his weight pressed into the railing. The stairs to the second floor weren’t any easier, but Derek could hear him clearly now, with his human ears.

 

                Stiles was awake. Kind of. His eyes were open, unfocused, and he was moaning and mumbling, wordless breaths tumbling out of his mouth in scratchy whispers.

 

                The dosage, the goddamn dosage.

                The dosage was for a man like Derek, not a boy like Stiles.

 

                Derek lowered the side of the crib and slashed his claws through the cuffs.

 

                He pulled his tiny pup from the plush mattress and into his lap.

 

                _He did this_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles follow the schedule for a couple of days. Eventually, Derek has to go shopping, so he drugs Stiles and goes to town. While in town, he meets with a Dr. Jacobson and gets a prescription for a sedative. The next day is the full moon. Derek drugs Stiles with the sedative for the full moon because he won't have enough control to take care of Stiles if he needs him. The sedative is too strong for Stiles, and Derek has to fight his wolf for control so he can save his boy.
> 
> Chapter WC: 7087


	11. Endings

                 Stiles was cold, so cold. He was out of his mind, half awake and delirious- thoughts flittered through his head but none could find purchase. He strained against his bonds- _why. can’t. I. move. my. arms_. He was so cold. The fabric of sleeper folded over itself as his back grinded against the sheets. The bumps were insufferable, embedding themselves in his skin like the gravel from the driveway. And he was so cold. Then we has falling, falling- the motion of being lifted from his crib startled him into a manic fit. He seized violently in Derek’s arms, clawing and shoving and kicking out for the lost security of a soft, flat surface.

 

\------------------------------

 

-Choose an ending to proceed-

 

[The Good](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802620/chapters/32947008)

 

[The Bad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802620/chapters/32947104)

 

[The Ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802620/chapters/32947155)

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long time coming, and I feel sorry for you if you started reading this back in August of 2016.
> 
> I go in-and-out of fandoms, in-and-out of kinks, and in-and-out of creative outlets. When the stars align, I write.
> 
> I've never been anything but perfectly honest, and to tell the truth, I only got around to writing these endings because I've fallen back into this stuff and none of the new stuff that's getting posted is doin it for me. So fuck it, I'll write my own! But I figured I should finish this story first...
> 
> Thank you for following this story through to the end. In the future, if I write something, I'm not going to post it until its finished, or damn near it. Y'all shouldn't have to wait 8 months for a 50,000 word story to finish.


	12. The Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good ending.

                Derek quickly lowered his boy back into his crib. On his knees, he gripped at his boy as a suppliant, a wordless plead flowing endlessly from his throat- a whine, animal, interrupted with hiccups and rising and falling in pitch as lips tried to form a prayer around the miserable scream.

                _He did this._

                Fingers twisted in the fleece, Derek felt that the sleeper was damp with sweat. Stiles ceased his writhing and shivered violently when Derek worked it off his shoulders, exposing his clammy skin to the air. He quickly repurposed the thin, abandoned blanket, patting it gently over his boy’s neck and chest in a trivial attempt to mop up the sweat.

                He cried. What could he do?

                Stiles needed to feel safe. He had to take care of Stiles.

                Acting swiftly but with controlled, practiced motions, he scooped Stiles out of the crib and plastered him against his chest, cradling his boy’s head over his shoulder. The motion made Stiles sick. A hot, sickly stream of vomit poured down his back. Derek didn’t even stop. He had to take care of Stiles.

                He brought him to the bathroom, stripped him bare, and propped him up in the empty tub. Stiles turned on his side and began to curl up in the porcelain, so rather than filling the tub, Derek simply let the water run and used a cup to cascade warm water over his prone form. It was agony. He screamed when the water hit him, from shock more than anything, but after the water warmed his skin, he quieted.

                Stiles was at the beach- he must be. Summer waves overtook him, and he was scared, but the water was so _warm_. He’s not in California, that’s for sure. He must be on vacation. _Yes,_ he thought, _vacation_. The sound of splashing water lulled him into a moment of serenity.

                When Stiles’ heartrate slowed to a normal level, Derek took a deep breath. He had to take care of Stiles. He stopped his ministrations to wipe Stiles’ chin with a warm washcloth and to clean the stale vomit from his back.

                Clean, and with a moment to think, Derek dared to leave his charge for a fleeting moment. He tore through his linen closet for a spare cotton blanket and trailed it downstairs. He stuffed it into the dryer, turned up the heat, and set the timer for ten minutes. He all but flew up the stairs and nearly slipped on the wet tile as he hurried to kneel beside his baby.

                Stiles hadn’t so much as shifted but he was cold again. Derek plugged up the drain and maneuvered Stiles so that he was flat on his back, his long legs bent at the knee to accommodate for the tub. He cradled his boy’s head in his hands so as to keep his ears clear from the rising water. Stiles was looking up at him, kind of. His eyes were glazed over, his left eye was bloodshot, and his face was blotchy from crying.

                Derek cast his eyes aside.

                _I did this._

                With just an inch of water lining the basin of the tub, Derek shut off the tap. The heat from the water caused sweat to trickle down his face. Stiles didn’t move.

 

                They stayed like this until the dryer buzzed. With one hand supporting his boy’s neck, Derek strained across the tub to pull the plug. When the low water had drained, Derek sat him upright and tugged a towel down from the rod. He ran it over Stiles’ head first, to dry his hair, and then he bundled up his baby and carried him bridal-style to the bed.

                Stiles was left alone again while Derek fetched the blanket. He returned in a flash and laid it flat across the foot of his bed, as much as he could fit. He freed Stiles from the damp towel, discarding it on the floor, and swaddled him loosely in the heated blanket.

                He moved Stiles so that he was safe under the comforter, then crawled in beside him.

                This isn’t how things were supposed to go.

 

\------------------------------

 

                Derek doesn’t sleep.

               

                His wolf wanes with the moon, and Derek feels like himself again when the early morning sky turns from gray to gold.

                He stays in bed until Stiles wakes up. He comes to around noon. He sits up, leans over, and vomits a thin stream of bile onto the carpet. He doesn’t even look at Derek.

                Derek unwraps him from the blanket and pulls him out of bed. He sits his boy on the toilet and waits patiently for a steady stream to start and stop.

                Stiles is complacent as Derek cleans him up and dresses him in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. He’s too drained, too nauseous to complain when he’s carried downstairs and settled into the armchair. He curls in on himself and graciously accepts the sippy cup of water that’s thrust under his nose. His first sip, he doesn’t swallow; he swirls the water around his mouth and spits it out onto the floor. Derek watches him but he doesn’t speak.

                Then Derek disappears again.

                He made up his mind, last night. Stiles is his everything. He needs Stiles. Stiles needs him. Stiles, his baby, his pup- his boy. Stiles deserves nothing but the best.

                And this is not his best. Derek wasn’t ready for Stiles to come into his life- it breaks his heart, but it isn’t fair to Stiles, and it isn’t fair to Derek. When Derek is ready, Stiles can be his. Until then-

 

                He goes to the closet and wrestles the coats and vacuum to free a bankers box from storage. The backpack had been emptied and folded in half to fit in the box; Derek frees it from the cardboard and smooths it over until the shape sort of returns. The aluminum water bottle, the phone (sans SIM card), the wallet- all of it, he relegates to the backpack. He’d thrown out the extra clothes long ago.

                Light as it is, the backpack is heavy in his hand.

 

                Stiles won’t move his legs on his accord, so Derek carries him to the truck. They drive in silence. The bag sits on Stiles’ lap.

                Derek pulls into a plaza that Stiles knows well. Its only about a mile from his house, right on the edge of the suburbs. A grocery store attracts most of the traffic. It’s busy this time of day, with all of the people making a stop on their way home from work.

                Stiles looks at Derek. Derek won’t meet his gaze, but Stiles can see all that he needs to see.

                The doors are unlocked. Stiles gives the handle a pull and the door clicks open, only a sliver, and his seatbelt is still fastened-

                He unbuckles himself, then gathers the backpack against his chest. He pushes against the door, and it swings open. Derek doesn’t move. Stiles swings his legs across the seat, into the open air.

                He hops down. He closes the door behind him and he doesn’t look back.

 

\------------------------------

 

                There’s a patrol car in the driveway; that’s not unusual. Baby is there, too, looking just as he left her, if not a little more polished.

                The grass is cut, and the hedges are trimmed.

                He’d never really thought about the door before, the front door. The paint is weathered and the finish is chipped around the frame. The keyhole is thoroughly scratched, a remnant from the years after his mother’s death.

                He stares at the doorbell. It seems demanding, impersonal, so he takes the heavy brass knocker in his left hand and raps three times.

 

                And then he sees dad.

 

                Before he can step inside, he’s pushed halfway out of the house by the force of his father’s embrace. The hands that grip him are kind and cautionary- they’re feeling for injury as much as they’re feeling for reality.

                “Hi, dad.” He croaks.

                What else can he say.

                The borrowed shirt is wet with tears by the time the Sheriff finally lifts his head to get a good look at his son. If anything, Stiles is thinner than he was before, but-

                He’s being pushed towards the cars before he can even get inside.

                “Dad,” He whines.

                His father insists on the hospital, _Jesus Christ- the hospital, they need to go to the hospital_. His keys are already free from the carabiner at his belt.

                “Dad,” He pleads.

                There are blue eyes, and then there are _blue_ eyes. Stiles looks at his father, and he sees his sunken cheeks, his pallor complexion, his ruddy nose. It’s as if he’s seeing his father for the first time.

                “I’m okay,” he chokes, “I’m okay. I just want to go to bed,”

                Stiles takes advantage of his father’s hesitation and shakes himself free. He sidesteps into the house. “I just want to lie down.”

                John follows Stiles into his bedroom. It’s exactly as he left it, John made sure of that. John stands in the doorway as Stiles crawls into bed and buries himself in the comforter.

 

\------------------------------

ONE MONTH LATER

 

                The internet is a beautiful thing. In any other age, missing an entire semester would set him back a year, but thanks to an online K12 program, Stiles is able to finish his sophomore year at his own pace.

                As it is, learning at his own pace means that he’s caught up within a month, and if he keeps it up, he’ll be done with his final exams before his regular high school suspends for spring break (which is actually ‘spring weekend’, according to Scott).

 

                Back when, after sleeping for nearly a day, and at his father’s insistence, Stiles agreed to a medical exam. Stiles refused to say much about the time he was missing. He was only slightly leaner than he was before, so the medical professionals were mostly satisfied with his hitch-hiking, couch-surfing cover story. The psychologist was a sham. The way she worded her questions- Linda was practically putting words in his mouth. She had her own narrative and anyone weaker would’ve fallen headfirst into her honeypot: “ _You were picked up near the highway, weren’t you? These patrons, as you call them- you did things that you weren’t comfortable with, didn’t you?”._

                It’s sick, actually- building up a narrative for traumatized people to nod along with. Stiles knew her game and he nearly gave in, if only it meant she would _stop_. _talking_. At least da- at least Derek let him feel whatever he felt about things. There’s a right and wrong answer with Linda, but there was never a right or wrong answer with Derek...

                Stiles ignored them all, for the most part, and infallibly insisted that he wanted some independence- that’s all.

                The missing tooth was harder to explain. Stiles kept it vague- it hurt, he said, every time he ate. He couldn’t go to a dentist, obviously, but he knew he couldn’t let it get bad, couldn’t let it get infected. So he downed some shots and one of his new buddies pulled it with some pliers. Bled more than it hurt, he said; was careful with the roots and everything.

                What could they do? It wasn’t the work of a professional, that’s for sure, but the missing molar had been removed cleanly. Stiles never stressed about it, so what could they do?

 

                John doesn’t push Stiles, not at all. His son’s apathy towards the time he was missing bothered him at first, but it wasn’t more than a week before it was hard to tell anything had happened to Stiles at all. He settled himself into a routine, and while he rarely left the house, he never slacked on his schoolwork or his chores, and Scott came over nearly every day for snacks and video games. Not to mention- and not that the sheriff was keeping track- on two occasions, Stiles had waxed poetic the virtues of Miss Lydia Martin.

 

                John couldn’t complain, because his son was safe. He wouldn’t. His son was safe.

                The department’s been good to him. He had worked nonstop after Stiles disappeared, if only to keep himself busy. Two weeks after Stiles came home, it was only at his son’s insistence that he returned to the department to work a light day shift.

                Today was a Thursday, and it was a little more than a month since Stiles came home. Stiles is playing video games in his room while John cooks dinner. John isn’t much of a cook, but he knows how to follow directions; so long as there’s no mincing or sautéing or whatever, he can handle it.

                Besides, they have a guest for dinner tonight. The Sheriff calls his son down to wash up and set the table. Stiles is a whirlwind, as usual, and John does his best to deflect all of the comments about Melissa- Scott’s his brother anyway, why not make it official?- and Kathy, that badass social worker who advocated for Stiles and who was totally into older guys, according to Stiles-

                The doorbell rang. Stiles was running for the door before the sheriff could get the roast out of the oven. Exasperated, he called out, “It’s just an old family friend-“

                Stiles opened the door with such force it nearly swung off the hinges.

 

                Smiling at Stiles, Derek hurried to the kitchen with a homemade pie balanced in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter WC: 2246


	13. The Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bad ending.

                Derek quickly lowered his boy back into his crib. On his knees, he gripped at his boy as a suppliant, a wordless plead flowing endlessly from his throat- a whine, animal, interrupted with hiccups and rising and falling in pitch as lips tried to form a prayer around the miserable scream.

                _He did this._

                Fingers twisted in the fleece, Derek felt that the sleeper was damp with sweat. Stiles ceased his writhing and shivered violently when Derek worked it off his shoulders, exposing his clammy skin to the air. He quickly repurposed the thin, abandoned blanket, patting it gently over his boy’s neck and chest in a trivial attempt to mop up the sweat.

                He cried. What could he do?

                Stiles needed to feel safe. He had to take care of Stiles.

                Acting swiftly but with controlled, practiced motions, he scooped Stiles out of the crib and plastered him against his chest, cradling his boy’s head over his shoulder. The motion made Stiles sick. A hot, sickly stream of vomit poured down his back. Derek didn’t even stop. He had to take care of Stiles.

                He brought him to the bathroom, stripped him bare, and propped him up in the empty tub. Stiles turned on his side and began to curl up in the porcelain, so rather than filling the tub, Derek simply let the water run and used a cup to cascade warm water over his prone form. It was agony. He screamed when the water hit him, from shock more than anything, but after the water warmed his skin, he quieted.

                Stiles was at the beach- he must be. Summer waves overtook him, and he was scared, but the water was so _warm_. He’s not in California, that’s for sure. He must be on vacation. _Yes,_ he thought, _vacation_. The sound of splashing water lulled him into a moment of serenity.

                When Stiles’ heartrate slowed to a normal level, Derek took a deep breath. He had to take care of Stiles. He stopped his ministrations to wipe Stiles’ chin with a warm washcloth and to clean the stale vomit from his back.

                Clean, and with a moment to think, Derek dared to leave his charge for a fleeting moment. He tore through his linen closet for a spare cotton blanket and trailed it downstairs. He stuffed it into the dryer, turned up the heat, and set the timer for ten minutes. He all but flew up the stairs and nearly slipped on the wet tile as he hurried to kneel beside his baby.

                Stiles hadn’t so much as shifted but he was cold again. Derek plugged up the drain and maneuvered Stiles so that he was flat on his back, his long legs bent at the knee to accommodate for the tub. He cradled his boy’s head in his hands so as to keep his ears clear from the rising water. Stiles was looking up at him, kind of. His eyes were glazed over, his left eye was bloodshot, and his face was blotchy from crying.

                Derek cast his eyes aside.

                _I did this._

                With just an inch of water lining the basin of the tub, Derek shut off the tap. The heat from the water caused sweat to trickle down his face. Stiles didn’t move.

                They stayed like this until the dryer buzzed. With one hand supporting his boy’s neck, Derek strained across the tub to pull the plug. When the low water had drained, Derek sat him upright and tugged a towel down from the rod. He ran it over Stiles’ head first, to dry his hair, and then he bundled up his baby and carried him bridal-style to the bed.

                Stiles was left alone again while Derek fetched the blanket. He returned in a flash and laid it flat across the foot of his bed, as much as he could fit. He freed Stiles from the damp towel, discarding it on the floor, and swaddled him loosely in the heated blanket.

                He moved Stiles so that he was safe under the comforter, then crawled in beside him.

                This isn’t how things were supposed to go.

 

\------------------------------

 

                Derek doesn’t sleep.

                Sunrise is still more than hour away, and Stiles’ condition doesn’t improve. If anything, he’s only getting worse. He’s laid out on the comforter now, and Derek’s been soaking him with a cool washcloth for nearly an hour. His pale skin is hot to the touch and his muscles twitch every few minutes, as if he simply doesn’t have the energy to writhe as he had before.

                His heartrate is erratic, his breathing is unpredictable. Every breath ends in gasps, as if he’s trying to breathe out more air than his shuddering lungs can take in.

                Derek-

                He can’t wait this one out. He stopped crying hours ago when a cold sobriety washed over him, but fresh tears pricked in his eyes as he gave in and allowed himself to entertain the dark thought in the back of his head:

                _Stiles might not make it through the night._

                His fever’s unbroken, that’s reason enough-

                Dammit.

                “And it’s your fault,” he said out loud. The room smells of suffering, of Stiles-

                _Stiles is suffering._

                And it’s Derek’s fault.

                Careless- he was the caretaker, how could he be so careless?

                And now he’s just sitting here-

                Derek rolls off the bed and paces the room.

                He might pull through, he might. Stiles is strong. But if Derek waits, and if Stiles doesn’t make a turn for the better, it would be too late-

 

                Derek had already made up his mind. He kneeled at the bedside and carded his fingers through his boy’s damp hair, then leaned forward to paint a chaste kiss on his burning temple. He straightened a little and considered the form on the bed. Derek braced one hand on the boy’s shoulder and used the other to raise the boy’s arm a few inches into the air. He eyes the bicep and hesitates, but another rattling breath from Stiles is all the prompting he needs.

                Derek drops his fangs and bites.

                It’s a true bite- a turning bite. He feels bone snap under the crushing pressure of his jaw and Derek doesn’t pull away until he feels his fangs scrape against each other inside the flesh.

                He was prepared for a scream- not this. Stiles’ eyes are open, unfocused, and endless tears flow down his cheeks. His lips twitch and a soft whimper comes from his throat. In his fevered reality he can’t understand what’s going on- the pain in his arm, the heat- he’s in hell, he has to be.

 

                Derek crawls back into bed and cradles Stiles to his chest. He can feel the bond between them and it’s ecstasy. For the first time in a long time, there’s no anger, no fear- just family, just Stiles. Derek forces his mind to be blank, neutral- if the bite doesn’t take...

                But as the boy’s heartbeat begins to fall in line with his own, the turning begins. Derek buries his nose in the cropped hair and peppers the pup with kisses. Grey light filters in through gaps in the curtains but the night of the full moon isn’t over until the sun crests the horizon. The moon is indifferent and it pulls violently at the newly turned.

                Stiles yelps in shock when the low light of the room suddenly grows a hundred times more intense. His retinas feel burned, and then every sound in the world rings through his ears at once. They bleed- they don’t, but goddamn, they should be- there’s a pounding, and a howling, and a harsh whisper. His nails scratch feathered cuts into his face as his hands fly to press against his ears. His jaw clenches and the bones in his fucking face start to ache, and the ache blossoms into pain- _it hurts, dear god it hurts, dear god_ \- and the pressure- _dear god_ \- a sledgehammer to the face would hurt less as sweet death would end the pain.

                And the screaming won’t stop, the tortured-

                He’s screaming, Stiles is screaming.

                He stops, inhales, ready to scream again, but-

                The pounding, the howling, the whisper- he hears them still but they aren’t soaking pain through his skull. He opens his eyes for the blinding intensity of a white sun but the morning light is barely a soft ember.

                There are arms wrapped around him, warm, strong, and bare. They belong to Derek, whose red eyes stare down at him with adoration- Stiles never thought he’d see love from the glowing eyes of his alpha, never thought he’d be happy to see them, either-

                “Alpha,” the word slipped out with a breath, almost silent.

                Derek’s lingering grief holds back his joy- quivering lips hold up a shy smile, and he sniffles when he reigns in his gasps.

                He holds Stiles tighter.

                “I thought I lost you,”

                Derek gently rocks his body back forth. The swaying is rhythmic and familiar. Derek keeps the red bleeding in his eyes, and his gaze is locked firmly with Stiles’. Stiles struggles with the eye contact but he finds it hard to look away. _God, he wants to be mad, he wants to sleep, he wants a shower, he wants to scrape that motherfucker’s grin off his stupid fucking face, he wants something hot to eat-_

                He throws up- _again, apparently_ \- and a sour stream of bile slides down his chin and pools on his bare chest.

                Derek swears and awkwardly shimmies his legs so he can start scooching off the bed. Stiles throws back his head and laughs-

                _Fuck me, fuck you_.

 

\------------------------------ 

ONE MONTH LATER

 

                Derek’s been great. Stiles always thought that people just stuck to their ways after a while, but he’s a changed man. Or maybe Stiles is changed. Stiles is changed, yeah- but that’s not the same thing, so Derek’s gotta be the changed man, right?

                They’re eating breakfast at the tiny kitchen table. Stiles looks so cute, strapped in his chair with half of a strawberry clutched in his sticky fingers. The bond grows stronger every day, and Stiles is much easier to control now that he’s pack. He’s fussy as always, and he still doesn’t like his nappies or his straps, but the way he looks at Derek, it’s like he’s seeing him for the first time, every time. He loves his daddy, he really does. In some ways Derek’s been more lenient than he was before. Stiles is a growing pup; he needs more than purees and formula to grow up big and strong, and he needs time to run around and burn up all his energy.

                Stiles wants to be mad. He isn’t; he can’t be. He wants to, but ever since Daddy... bit him- he can see the man’s soul, and there’s nothing but love. He hates the diapers, he hates being spoon-fed, he hates the boring toys, the awful television- bathtime is kinda nice- he wants to scream, he wants to run, he knows he should, but then Daddy is there, and everything is okay. Not great, but okay. The food has gotten better, and Daddy takes him outside to play in the clearing, and some days they take little walks in the woods.

                Stiles finishes his strawberry and grimaces when Derek reaches over to fold up his bib and wipe his chin. He swats at his hands, but Derek easily catches his wrist and smiles at his stained fingers. He looks Stiles in the eye and dammit, if Stiles can’t smell mischief- Daddy laughs and slobbers all over his hand, cleaning up the sticky fruit juice with his spit.

                “Eww, daddy- let goooo!” Stiles tugs his hand away but Derek’s got him good.

                He smacks his lips and hums, considering Stiles’ hand.

                “Fun fact: puppies taste like strawberries. You learn something new every day,” He kisses the palm of Stiles’ hand and lets him go so that he can clear away the dishes. Stiles makes a face and dries his hand on the front of his onesie. He would’ve used the bib, but it’s kinda wet from when Daddy cleaned his face, and if Stiles was gonna be honest... he kinda wanted to smell like Daddy.

 

                Daddy said there was another full moon tonight, and Stiles can feel that something is different. Daddy is only a little farther away at the kitchen sink, but his back is turned and he isn’t talking or anything-

                Derek smells the separation anxiety and turns his head to flash Stiles a funny face. His baby giggles and the tension falters, if only a bit. He tells Stiles all the things they could do today: they can go upstairs and color, or read a story, or there’s a nice documentary on penguins they could watch...

                “What kind of animal is a penguin, Stiles?”

                “They’re birds!”

                “That’s right! You’re such a smart boy,”

                “Do you like p’ngins Daddy?”

                “Yep! They don’t fly but they’re really good swimmers.”

                “Daddy can we go swimmin?”

                Derek _really_ doesn’t want to spoil the moment. “Hmm... maybe someday,”

                “Like tomorrow?” Derek starts to laugh, but he knows Stiles is serious. He shuts off the water and dries his hands, then frees Stiles from his highchair. Stiles grabs at his shirt once Derek has him balanced on his hip. He’s never dropped him, not once, but Stiles might not ever get used to being handled around.

                “Honey, you know we can’t go out for a little while now. You can’t control your shift yet. If your eyes start glowing or your claws pop out, you might scare someone-“ Derek catches himself, “because they wouldn’t understand, and people are scared of things they don’t understand. It’s better just to stay here with Daddy until you’re a little older.”

                Stiles smells sad, but he doesn’t argue. He whines and nuzzles at Derek’s chest. Derek could teach Stiles how to control his shift; with guidance, he could probably have it down in a month or two, with hiccups near the full moon, but Derek has the boy convinced that control will come to him in due time. Maybe in a year or two, when Derek is thoroughly convinced that Stiles is his forever, they can move somewhere far away and he can teach Stiles how to control his shift. Maybe Maine... the winters will be rough, but they’ll have the mountains, and the forest, and the ocean, too. Not to mention, Canada is right there, if they ever need to jump ship...

                _Reel it back in, Derek. You’re in control._

                “Say, pup- how’s about we get our shoes on and take a little walk? I know where there’s a huckleberry bush, and if we’re lucky they might be good enough to eat,”

                Stiles gives him that wild-eyed look he gets when he’s excited. But... he looks unsure, and before Derek can prompt him, a solemn look darkens his face.

                “And if we’re not lucky?” He whispers.

                Derek laughs and starts to kiss his pretty little head. Stiles squirms and giggles in his arms as Derek hoists him higher to kiss his neck.

                “Daddy no! That tickles!” He loses it when Derek seals his lips over his neck and blows a raspberry. God, this is all he ever wanted. A happy little boy, a family of his own.

                “If we’re unlucky and all the berries are yucky, then we’ll just have to come home and make cookies.”

                “Cookies!” Stiles pushes against Derek’s chest and Derek lowers him to the ground. He toddles for the front door and Derek has to hustle to scoop him up again.

                “Nuh-uh, sport, we both need outside clothes and for goodness’ sake we need _shoes_ before we go outside!”

                He carries Stiles to the master suite and sits him on the bed while he pulls a pair of joggers up over his boxers. He presents two t-shirts for Stiles to pick- Stiles likes the red, like Daddy’s eyes- then dresses himself and carts the boy to his nursery to get him changed. Stiles gets elastic-waist jeans and a plain blue tee to cover his onesie.

                Derek sits Stiles at the bottom of the stairs and fetches their jackets and shoes from the hall closet.

                Stiles sort of doesn’t like his shoes. They’re his shoes from before, and they remind him of what he had before Derek. He knows that his other stuff is in the closet, too, in a box, he can smell it- but that’s from before. He shouldn’t worry about it. It’s not like he can go back, and besides, why would he? Daddy and him have everything they need right here.

                ‘Cept for huckleberries, apparently, but that won’t be a problem in a bit, ‘cause Stiles will find the good ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter WC: 2801


	14. The Ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end-notes for what to expect.

                The moon pulls again and drags him under like a wave over his shoulder. He shoves the boy from his lap, he’s gotta get away. Shit, _shit_ \- he messed up. Fuck, he messed up, this was a mistake.

                He’s right there, he’s right there, fuck he’s right there, the bitch is right there, for fuck’s sake-   Derek scrambles away on his hands and knees, backing himself into the far corner. He balls his hands into tight fists and he squeezes until his claws are damn near clean through his palm and then he squeezes a little harder. He breathes, he breathes, but good god Stiles needs it so fucking bad, he breathes-

                It pulls again and Derek is nauseous, he can’t fight this for much longer.

                The window, the window, if he could get out, probably break his fucking legs jumping out, but he has to get away because Stiles needs his Daddy, he needs Alpha, he loves their special time so much, he wants his Alpha for real, Derek can’t say no to his sweet boy-

                He’s hurting, Derek knows that he’s hurting, but to the wolf he’s just _needing_ -

                He’s on his feet and fumbling with the lock on the window-

                _Fuck, Derek, just-_

                He braces himself to punch it out but when he pulls his arm back, he sees him.

                The sweet baby boy is on his tummy and he’s reaching out for daddy. He’s so desperate, he’s scared, he wants his Daddy.

                Derek breaks.

                He _needs_.

                Naked, half-shifted, and unable to control the animal in his vessel, Derek stalks towards the prone figure. He gets behind the boy and straddles his legs, then lowers himself so that his chest is pressed against the boy’s back, elevated on his forearms so as to cage in his bitch but not crush him. Stiles’ heart beats faster and resonates through his torso but his labored, erratic breathing hitches and slows once Derek is settled on top of him. _Good_.

                Derek buries his nose in the boy’s short hair and breathes deeply, then drags his face down to the back of his neck. He nudges at the collar of the sleeper so that his mouth and nose can touch bare skin. Stiles recoils a bit at the sensation, cinching his neck and shoulder together to keep Derek out- that won’t do. He nips at the bitch’s ear and he stiffens, allowing Derek to finish scenting his neck.

                Stiles quakes and moans in his delirium. He can’t focus- he can feel, he knows what he feels, but his mind is just throwing sensations at the wall and hoping that something will stick. Nothing does. Something cold and wet touches his neck and he cringes- _pain, pain, stay still_ \- it returns but Stiles can’t bring himself to move.

                The writhing body beneath him causes Derek to rouse. His hips begin a slow rutting that lacks finesse, a natural response. As he hardens, his movements become more focused, more driven, and the fabric of the sleeper irritates his member.

                He stops and straightens to examine the barrier. He tears it with his claws and tugs the fabric to expose the bitch’s back, but dammit- he wants. the bitch. naked. He tears and tugs at the sleeper, growing flustered as he realizes he can’t just _pull_ , he has to free each limb individually. He rolls the bitch around to gather up the scraps and toss them aside- and that’s right, it’s a baby bitch. Derek only has to pull at the thin material around the boy’s hips to remove the damp diaper. It smells like piss.

                 

                The bitch is naked, finally, and Derek heaves the boy up so that his ass is high in the air. He lines up his hips and thrusts. He’s dry, and so is the bitch- his head can’t clear the tight entrance. He pulls back and works up a mouthful of spit and coats the head of his dick. He tries again, slower this time, and it’s a little easier, but fuck him if it still hurts. He stills, and they stay like that for a moment, a bitch and an animal joined at the hip. When he can work up another mouthful, he spits again, and pushes forward; when he’s halfway inside, Derek grabs the bony hips and thrusts- fuck, fuck he’s tight.

                Stiles cries. It hurts, it hurts, there’s so much hurt. In his fevered stupor he can’t grasp what’s happening, he just knows that there’s hurt, and why won’t Daddy help him? He tries to call out for Derek, for Daddy, but all he can manage is a harsh whine, half a word that carries with each breath. Someone’s kissing him, kissing his head, his neck, his back. Please, be Daddy.

                Derek starts to rock, slowly, back and forth; he can’t be thrusting more than inch inside his baby- he pulls out just a bit, then falls back in until flesh is flush with flesh. He presses on, and a metallic scent assaults him, but as he continues, his own seepage dominates the air, his own scent.

                He comes, eventually- it’s not the best he’s ever had, but damn if it isn’t satisfying to finish inside a needy little bitch. He pulls out, and his dick is slathered with semen, shit, and blood- he backs up and presses his nose to the puffy entrance, breathing deeply. The bitch is his; he did his job.

                He’s sated, but he isn’t _satisfied_. There’s a few hours yet ‘til sunrise, and with a bred bitch under his belt, the night is his for the taking.

                He shuffles downstairs, leaving the boy where he lies, and with half a mind to close the door behind him, Derek breaks for the forest.

 

                ------------------------------

 

                His wolf wanes with the moon, and Derek feels like himself again when the early morning sky turns from gray to gold. He’s not in the basement. There’s an awful taste in his mouth, and a mutilated deer carcass is beside him on the forest floor. He spits, stands, and traces his own scent through the woods to find his way home.

                He enters the house and he’s assaulted by the scent of blood, piss, semen, and vomit. Some of it smells like him, and some of it smells like Stiles.

                Derek walks upstairs and enters the nursery. Stiles is alive; he’s breathing, barely, and his heartbeat is slow. He’s out cold, and he’s naked. He’s stretched out on the playtime rug; there’s a dark stain beneath him that reeks of urine. A mix of dried blood and semen cakes the back of his thighs.

                Derek takes it all in.

                He did it, he actually did it. He hurt his boy.

                He hurt his boy.

 

                He should freak out.

                But he doesn’t.

 

                It doesn’t... it doesn’t bother Derek that Stiles is injured and on the floor. His boy is half-dead by his own hands. He’s hurt, but Derek- Derek doesn’t _feel_ anything.

                A sense of duty sets him forward. He’s filthy from his moonlight hunt, so he showers quickly, in and out before the water can get warm. He bathes the boy next and applies a soothing cream to his raw, puffy hole before taping a clean diaper around his bruised hips.

                Once he’s safe in the locking crib, Derek tidies up the nursery. He opens the window to air out the room, then rolls up the rug, and, since its headed for the trash anyway, he pushes it through the window and watches it bounce and come unfurled in the grass.

                Two stories up- he’d break his legs if he jumped. The thought makes him pause. Scratches on the windowsill conjure up a memory from the night before, but that isn’t the right word for it. It isn’t a memory; he knows he was here, at the window, that he wanted the window open, but it’s a bad taste in his mouth, like the deer. Not a memory. Derek never remembers the full moon.

                He can’t be in this room right now.

                Derek goes back to his bathroom for a proper hot shower. He trims his beard while the hair is still softened, brushes his teeth, then heads downstairs for coffee.

                He eyes his armchair but the baby toys and oversized playpen make him reconsider.

                He doesn’t want to be in this room, either.

                So he steps outside, barefoot, and sits on his porch swing.

 

                He’s... angry. Whatever that little fucker did last night, he fucked everything up. This was his chance to have a normal life. Derek was going to have him when he thought the boy was ready, when he could trust his Daddy to be gentle. The little slut loved their playtime so much, Derek knew it- he was always so nervous, he’s such a shy little boy, but once Derek starts to fondle him he gets all needy.

                _Something_ went wrong last night. Derek did everything right. He’s never broken out of those chains before, he’s never- he’s _never_ hurt anyone before, he’s always been so careful.

                All of this, all of this was supposed to free him from that danger, to ground him, to convince Derek that if he could just find something _human_ to hold onto, he could live as a man. If Stiles wasn’t such a fucking slut, they could get out of this fucking house, live in society again, a daddy and his pup.

 

                He can’t kill the boy. He can’t stay here, they can’t go back, not after this. Derek’s just so fucking done with the slut. But he can’t just leave him somewhere, either, he’s practically split in two after last night- there are too many questions to ask, and Stiles knows who Derek is. He can’t kill the boy, and he can’t fucking look at him, either.

 

\------------------------------

SOME TIME LATER

 

                Nine.

                He counts _nine_ , but there are supposed to be _ten_.

                Nine means he’s dreaming. You don’t have ten when you’re dreaming, and he only has nine-

                _Start again, Stiles._

                “One, two, three, four... five, six, seven, eight, nine-“

                Fuck.

                “Daddy, please, there’s only _nine_ ,”

                Daddy doesn’t talk much anymore, and even when he does, he’s not really talkin’ to Stiles anyway. That’s okay. Stiles talks to himself a lot. Daddy’s almost never there to listen, but Stiles likes to think Daddy can hear him.

                He doesn’t live in the nursery no more. Daddy moved him to a crate in the basement. It’s big enough to sit up in and long enough to lie down in, but that’s about it. There’s nothing in the crate, just a thin plastic liner, but no blanket, no pillow, no toys, no nothing. Stiles doesn’t have nothing in the crate. There’s a water bottle strapped to the bars and he has to suckie to get a drink. Sometimes Stiles suckies even when he isn’t thirsty because he likes to suckie so much. He wishes Daddy would give him a paci to suckie instead.

                He’s kinda lucky, though, because every day, after Daddy hoses him down, he gets to suckie on Daddy’s cock. After he swallows all of Daddy’s cum, Daddy gives him food.

                Daddy has to hose him down because there’s no potty in the crate. He has to potty all over himself. He tried going potty outside the crate once but that made Daddy mad and Stiles got a spanking. He begged Daddy for his diaper, but when Daddy finally diapered him again, that was worse, because Daddy didn’t change him, and he got mad when he saw that Stiles took his diaper off by himself. He got a spanking for that, too.

                Daddy put him down here because he’s a slut and he didn’t know what else to do with him. Stiles can hear Daddy walking around upstairs, and he hopes that Daddy will bring him upstairs again soon.

                Daddy only really takes him out of the crate to fuck him. He gets to lay on the bed for a bit, so that’s always nice. It never lasts long, though.

                One time, not too long after Daddy moved him downstairs, Daddy left him on the bed while he cleaned himself up instead of putting him back in his crate. Stiles made a break for the inset doors that lead straight to the outside but they were locked. Daddy was really mad. He bit off his pinky finger, then stitched him up and put him back in his crate.

                So now he can only count to nine.

 

                Stiles is happy that his Daddy still keeps him around, but he really misses his soft diapers and his moo-moo milk and his toys, ‘specially the soft ones, and he really wishes he could have his coloring book down here. What he really wants is to be with his Daddy again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the ugly ending. It isn't pretty. Rape and torture. Mind you, this isn't rape-and-torture smut; it isn't sexy rape or sexy torture. It's just ugly. And sad. You made your bed, now lay in it.
> 
> Chapter WC: 2140


End file.
